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blackleatherjacketz · 7 months ago

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Shadow and Sin: Chapter 4

Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they are until it's too late.

This Chapter: A mysterious box shows up on your doorstep, Elijah buys you a drink.

Warnings: Witchcraft, Love Bombing, Stalking, Sugar Daddy Vibes, Feelings of Inadequacy

Word Count: 2.3k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Klaus’ bloody kiss had stayed with you for days, haunting you throughout your shifts at the hospital as your hormones raged in the absence of his presence, nearly making it impossible for you to focus. It made you wish that you were established enough to focus solely on your art career, that you didn’t have to work well into the night to pay your bills, but here you were, still a slave to capitalism. After your third grueling shift in a row, your legs wearily carry your body up the stairs to your apartment only to find a package sitting square in the middle of your doorstep. You look down the hallway at the other apartments, thinking that maybe it was something from the landlord that everybody got, but all the other welcome mats lay empty.

The box just sits there ominously, devoid of any stickers or labels, letting you know that it’s been hand delivered instead of ordered online and sent to your address. For whatever reason, you’re not sure why, that makes it seem a little bit more unsettling than you care to admit. That shady tarot reading makes you even more suspicious, Klaus’ warning of the witches in this town lingering in the back of your mind, making you approach your door with more caution than usual.

As you get closer, you notice that it’s a small wooden box exquisitely carved of rich cherry, no bigger than a shoebox without any other words or markings anywhere that you can see. Your heart races as you bend down to pick it up, holding your breath as you fear the very worst. What if there’s a dead animal inside or a body part covered in blood with some kind of curse on it that ruins your life once you touch it? What if it’s a distraction? What if….? You’re too tired for this. You grit your teeth and take a deep breath, finally convincing yourself to move your fingers and lift the top half of the box to see what’s inside.

Oh thank God! It’s just a book, but not any old book. It’s a paperback copy of Le Fantome de l’Opera, the first edition ever to be sold in France in the early 1900’s…1910, to be exact.

You exhale instantly as a wave of relief washes over you, carefully inspecting the green and gray cover, turning it over in your hands a few times before opening it to view its yellowed but pristine pages. You’d seen listings of this copy online before, but never actually seen it in person, let alone physically held it in your own hands. You can’t help but smile as you flip through the pages, doing your best to interpret the foreign language until you reach the front cover, reading a small note recently inscribed in perfect cursive:

For your collection, Little Lotte. Let your mind wander. I’ve read this far too many times to keep it Locked away on my shelf.

Your obedient servant. E. M.

E. M.? Elijah, of course! Had you really made as much of an impression on him as he had on you that day in the library? Has he really been thinking about you fondly enough to make a purchase of this magnitude and leave it for you to find in the middle of the night?

You stare blankly at the message for a moment, allowing the aroma of aged ink on paper to fill your nostrils as you bring it up to your face, nearly forgetting where you are and how scared you were just a moment ago. You close your eyes and imagine the intoxicating scent of his cologne surrounding you as that dark voice of his reads to you in French before your body begins to warm all over, instinctively leaning against your front door.

Your eyelids flutter as the weight of them suddenly becomes too much, the comfort of your bed calling to you as you coach yourself to find your keys and push them into the handle, nearly stumbling inside your living room. You bring the book and its box inside with you, sleepily deciding that you can weigh out the pros and cons of both Elijah and Klaus in the morning once you’re showered and rested, but until then, it’s time to sleep.

————————

You don’t wake again until the next afternoon, a rather common occurrence after working so many twelve-hour shifts in a row. You eventually rise and talk yourself into making a strong pot of coffee, glancing over at the book Elijah had left you as your caffeine begins to brew. Allowing the aroma to slowly clear your head as you pour your first cup, you wonder which situation was weirder: Klaus shutting down your Tarot interpretation just to walk you home and kiss you, or Elijah tracking down your home address to send you your favorite book. Both had lines of romantic intentions drawn through them, Klaus’ being a bit more forward than Elijah’s, but the truth remains for each of them.

You can’t remember a time where anyone had vied for your affections more fervently than right now, when two wildly different men had so brazenly inserted themselves into your life, the likes of which you could only compare to the romantic stories you’ve read about in books. You’d always envied those women who had two lovers to choose from, the center of attention at all times as these men competed for her hand. But this is real life, and if your years of experience had taught you anything about men, it’s that one of them will most likely grow tired of you before too long, weeding themselves out of the competition before it even begins. It’s just a book, you tell yourself. That’s all.

Attempting to clear your head of work, magic and ancient copies of classic literature, you decide to watch your coworker Tammy play the trumpet at a small bar in the garden district later in the night. It’s far enough away from where you met both Elijah and Klaus that you don’t have to worry about weighing the options of being in their presence as you settle into your barstool.

You let the music from the instruments distract you for the moment; Tammy’s trumpet painting the humid Louisiana air a shockingly vivid yellow, the saxophone adding bright red to the canvas as the piano dots the page with its vibrant blue notes while the bass guitar’s earthy green tones hold it all together. They blend and build onto one another, creating a beautifully unique masterpiece of sound that’s distinct to this region of the world, but vastly different from anything else anyone’s ever created before. This is what you love about the city, how the music on every street corner seems to take on a life of its own, dousing every inch of it in an almost visible, tangible fresco for everyone around to experience. This city is alive in more ways than one, and you’re just happy to be here to bear witness.

“Your finest whiskey, please, and whatever she’s having.” That dark chocolate timbre brings you back to reality as he addresses the bartender before turning ever so slightly toward you.

Oh, great. It’s Elijah. Is he following you? He’s already managed to find out where you live, so this doesn’t completely surprise you, but the coincidence forces suspicion to take up shelter in the base of your spine as he unbuttons his suit jacket.

“Espresso martini, please,” you tell the bartender softly, looking over at Elijah in disbelief. You aren’t entirely sure if you should be flattered or scared, his determination to find you both admirable and alarming. “Are you following me?” You ask in a semi-joking tone.

“Hardly,” he replies with a satisfied grin, keeping his secrets safe. “But if I was, I wouldn’t have expected you to show up here.”

“Well, if I’d have known you were looking for me, I would have given you more of a run for your money.” You lie, attempting to play it cool as you look at both of your reflections in the mirror behind the bar.

So much for your vampire theory.

“Would you, now?” He chuckles, his nonchalance making you shiver.

“Thank you, by the way… for the drink and for the gift.” You pause as his grin slowly melts into a smile. “The book, it’s remarkable, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you pause, careful not to get too swept up by his romantic gesture that you lose your head. “But that’s a nine thousand dollar book, Elijah, I looked it up on eBay. The first edition ever? I mean, how did you even get that? There are only two copies in the entire world for sale right now. I couldn't possibly accept a gift like this.”

He shrugs as if the money is inconsequential to him, his lips pursing just enough to signal that he’s almost tickled by your refusal. “I didn’t buy it, if it’s the price that bothers you.” He takes a moment to lean in and look you in the eye, his voice dropping down to a sincere whisper. “I gave it to you because I wanted you to have it, because you told me how much that book meant to you.”

“But why would you do that? You don’t even know me,” you counter breathily, attempting to push away what seems too good to be true.

“Not yet, no.” He sizes you up like a snake about to devour its prey. “But I could.”

Goddamnit, who IS this guy?

“Well… first of all, you can’t just stalk me and find out where I live and leave mysterious unmarked boxes on my doorstep at three in the morning.” You hush the tone of your last few words as the bartender brings both of your drinks out.

“I thought you enjoyed elements of danger with your romance, that love was meaningless without any stakes?” He raises an eyebrow and traces the rim of his glass with his index finger.

“I meant in my books, not in real life. I didn’t anticipate you scaring me half to death after a long shift with that box! It could have been anything in there: a dead rat, bloody feathers, someone’s finger, I don’t know!” You helplessly attempt to plead your case of how frightening it is to live in this world as a woman, but a man like him isn’t likely to listen.

“I’ve offended you.” His tone is diplomatic now, his expression hardening. “I assure you, that was not my intention. If I’ve misread our previous interaction, I’ll kindly take my leave.”

“No, that’s not it!” You correct him, grabbing hold of his arm to keep him near. “I'm letting you know that I would be offended if I wasn’t so… if you weren’t so…” you trail off, getting flustered as your lip begins to quiver.

“If I weren’t so what?” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair away from your face, making your heart leap inside your chest as he gently tucks it behind your ear. You suddenly feel as if all time has stopped, the boisterous barrage of the band fading off into the distance as you fall headfirst into the black abyss of his eyes, letting it pull you down into its darkest depths, abandoning all hope of walking away from this sultry encounter unscathed. “I know you feel it, too.”

Fuck. He’s not wrong, not even a little.

He inhales slowly, creating a long electric pause as he takes you in as if it’s his very first time seeing you, letting you drown in the slick feeling in the very pit of your stomach. “I’ll admit that my delivery was a little old fashioned, but I thought that was something you’d appreciate.” He strokes your cheek as if he knows exactly what to do to make you melt beneath him, that he’s well aware that despite his questionable actions, he knows you won’t get up and leave.

“Mmm hmm,” you stammer clumsily, his fingers lighting up your skin as every tiny hair stands at attention, waiting for him to touch more of you.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you.” He removes his hand from your face and takes the first sip of his cocktail, the stoic confidence radiating off of him like a man who's done no wrong.

“I do appreciate it, I really do, more than you know.” You admit, barely able to find your words as he holds you in his gaze. You struggle to express out loud what you’re thinking right now, how you’re feeling as a haunting sense of unworthiness creeps over you, inch by inch like an insidious gray cloud. You’d know it anywhere by now, for it’s the same one that’s followed you around for the majority of your adult life. “It’s just that one’s ever done anything like that for me before. I guess I’m just… not used to it.”

“Then every man before me has been a fool.” He lets his hand rest on top of yours, his fingers slowly slipping into the spaces between them before gently flipping it over, exposing your wrist. He takes another long draught of his whiskey before tracing little designs into your palm with his fingertips, exciting every neuron on your skin before moving up to your wrist, brushing against your pulse. “I’m sure that isn’t what you came to this city to find, now is it, little Lotte? A life that you’re ‘used to’?”

“No.” You confess almost immediately, feeling yourself sinking down deeper into his chasm of madness as you attempt to pick your jaw up off the floor.

“Then keep the book.”

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #daniel gillies #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader

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belokhvostikova · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞 (𝐒𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧)

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | There comes a period where most relationships fall stale, yet Eddie never thought it'd happen to him and you, in fact, maybe even worse. With an intimate date planned in the comfort of your home, Eddie hopes to coax whatever thoughts are troubling your mind.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧�� 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, yelling, brief mention of drugs, mentions of financial insecurities, pregnancy, and discussions about abortions; open ended decision about the pregnancy, don't be alarmed, baby wanters/deniers :)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | This is, of course, my participation to @carolmunson's The Boy is Mine writing exercise! Rules can be found here, and you can check out everyone else's interpretation of my boyfriend here! I wasn't aware of any deadlines, so I sincerely apologize if this is coming too late, I just really wanted to be included, lol! <3

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.9K

Like clockwork, the small pebbles of the man-made driveway had clung to the soles of your shoes.

There had been nothing innately special about the four concrete steps it took to reach home, but today—much like the last few—had you yearning for the time in which the four concrete steps it took to reach home actually filled you with contentment.

Happiness.

Though now, nothing but dread resides within you, as your steps stomp out the once embedded pebbles to clack against the concrete stairs. Because now, a simple look to his face would tighten your chest with the burdens of guilt, as your newfound routine of rejecting his loving advances had suddenly taken over the once usual intimate greeting of a kiss hello. But as complicated as the situation had been, the explanation was actually the most simple: you’d just ruined Eddie Munson’s life.

But that’s quite the funny thing about communication. It breeds an eternal misery far worse than hope ever could, when chosen to be ignored for the sake of a peaceful calm. Because that’s all you were grasping for. Clammy fingers aching to hold onto the last snapping threads of tranquility if it meant keeping the peaceful life you both worked so hard to achieve. But the battle of the tumultuous anxiety you were fighting off to hold onto those threads was ultimately transpiring for the worst.

Because in return, Eddie Munson was beginning to fear the worst: he’d finally become nothing to you.

Which is why, in a desperate attempt to rekindle the spark he still very much felt on his end, you would walk into the cozy trailer to find your eyes lit with the warmth of technicolor shadows, all casted from the benignity of yellow lamps illuminating soft duvets and sheets of creamy pastels and fuzzy neutrals. A childhood’s finest: a blanket fort. Strung along the comfy fortification had been dozens of twinkling Christmas lights that cascaded warm glowing hues against the cramped four walls of your home.

A wonderland of innocence.

With the loose hinges of the door announcing your arrival, Eddie has scampered out of the delicate fort of blankets, and peaked through his frizzy bangs, until his round eyes landed against yours. With a stool there, that one chair there, a tight tuck into the couch cushion, and a broomstick that played into the laws of physics to surprisingly stand on its own, the mastery of the ultimate blanket fort consumed your living room. All curated from the hands of Eddie Munson. Just for you.

“H-Hey,” his stiff bones popped with the movement of his body, as he stood before you. “I, uh, can I just-”

Eddie’s hands worked to pry off the purse that slung itself over your shoulder, with your jacket to follow, before he crouched to the height of your feet to free you of the confinements of uncomfortable shoes.

“What’s all this?” Tired from a slaving eight hour shift, your voice had only but a couple of octaves to work with.

You watched his throat bob with a nervousness he never had with you before. Until you scared him. “I wanted to do something for you.” See, I still love you. “Y’know, f-for us. Just for us.” Don’t you? Your heart sank at the underlying worry that was tainting his sweet face. Because of you. Because you were ruining him right before your eyes. “H-Henderson came over and helped me out a bit, stopped by the Byers, too. Stole these off of ‘em,” his hands wavered to the strings of Christmas lights that glowed the dark walls into a fairytale setting, “can you believe they got, like, a shit load of ‘em?” He huffed out a laugh, in hopes of being some source of amusement for you, like he once was.

But with your guilt silently afflicting you, you found little reason to smile, which misinterpreted itself to the cementation that you were, in fact, sick of Eddie Munson. Long gone was the look of love that once beautifully invaded your eyes when you stared at him.

“You didn’t-” Your voice got caught in your throat, not wanting to ask the question that would proffer the conversation you most dreaded. But it was Eddie. Your Eddie. With a soul like his, he deserved the honesty of your burdens. “Why did you do this?” You quietly asked.

Humorlessly, the softest chuckle of disbelief scoffed from his nose, as his brows raised at you. Yeah, you, too, knew it was a stupid question. “I- you- something’s wrong.” His eyes pleaded for you to understand.

Your eyes shamefully peered down at his bare feet, as your head shuffled in the smallest nod you could give. “I- um, yeah. C-Can you invite me in?” You gestured to the blanket flap that acted as a doorway to the fort.

“Of course.”

Despite being a moment of financial insecurity, where Eddie couldn’t lavish you with dinner at Enzo’s to hash out the sudden shift in your relationship, perhaps the sentimental idea of a blanket fort was found to be quite perfect under the guise of appeasing the apprehensive worry from both parties. Because as two adults crawled on their hands and knees to enter the constructed tent of blankets and sheets, Eddie swore he heard the soft jubilance of giggles gently escape from your mouth; a sound he tortuously hadn’t heard in days.

Your face glowed under the vibrant hues of string lights, as your hands and knees sunk into the soft cushion of blankets that displayed themselves against the carpeted floor of the living room, where the second-hand thrifted couch pillows propped themselves for your comfort to lean against. Unplugged from its usual habitat of the living room television stand—thoroughly just a small end table, secured from a flea market—Eddie had placed the small box TV within your newfound fort; a tranquil excuse of a buffer, in case the necessary conversation turned sour, and something was needed as a break to mitigate the tense discussion.

Eddie would always allow you your Golden Girls. It always was quite the destresser for you. So, he’d risk the higher-than-usual light bill and the potential fire hazard it was to run an extension cord to, not only plug in the TV, but provide you the serenity of colorful lights, if it eased you to just finally talk to him.

“It worked.” You turned your head to his lilted voice, as you awkwardly stationed yourself criss-crossed on the floor. “You’re smiling.”

It felt quite awful how relieved he’d become with the barely-there smile you’d succumb to. You wished he hadn’t found such joy in something so small, because it only led you to believe you’d given him so little lately, that he was only forced to lavish in the bare minimum.

If only your mind hadn’t manipulated his happiness to be rooted in such cynicism. Because, yes, Eddie Munson did find such joy in the simpleness of your small smile. But Eddie had profoundly loved you enough to find appreciation in the most miniscule details of your beauty.

Because what you hadn’t seen was that your barely-there smile had bloomed the suppleness of your cheeks to glow with the joy your mind so badly suppressed from you, as your eyes twinkled with the liveliness of your soul.

To you, it really may have just been a barely-there smile.

But your barely-there smile had been utter perfection in the eyes of Eddie Munson.

“T-This is really nice, Eddie.” You sincerely spoke, as he found himself a cramped spot in front of you, lanky legs struggling to mimic yours. “Thank you.”

“You don’t gotta thank me.” He softly smiled back. “It’s been a while since I’ve done something nice for you.” Eddie Munson always did nice things for you. You don’t know where his admission came from. Yes, bills took over fancy outings, but wildflowers were picked in a bouquet of appreciation for you, home cooked dinners were attentively attempted to be served for you (he was slowly getting better by the days), and sentimental songs were delicately strung on his guitar to the lyrics dedicated for you. Yeah, Eddie Munson always did nice things for you. “I’m really sorry about that.” But his cynicism couldn’t help but match yours, where his mind believed that his love had to be showcased where it hurt his wallet the most.

“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry, please.” Your hands interlaced with his, as guilt ate at you. “Please, don’t- I- you’ve done nothing wrong.” Your mouth spewed in damage control. “Really, Eddie-”

“No?” His brows cinched in desperation for answers.

“N-No,” You stuttered under his scrutiny, as your hands brushed away from his to shield your eyes from the frustration that fermented in you. “It really isn’t- you didn’t do anyth-”

“Then what the hell is going on?” He pleaded. Eddie didn’t want to yell, never to face like yours, but the agony of being left in the dark was driving him to the precipice of exasperated resentment that he adamantly never wanted to feel towards you. Your mind raced about how you’d explain the turmoil you were in. His urgency had been lackluster in terms of support to your heaving chest, but you couldn’t blame him. He, too, was beginning to feel the crashing end of your relationship. He was frightened. “B-Because you’re never like this- never mean! And you-you’re not talking to me, n-not touching me, not even wanting me near you! I-I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe you when you say it’s not me, because it clearly is!”

You could see the stinging tears torment his sweet eyes. It choked your throat, nearly having you projectile your breakfast in disgust with yourself. “N-No, it’s not-”

Rude, perhaps, but Eddie's endeavor to cut you off had been quite useful in derailing your rambles that typically ran in circles for the sake of avoidance. He knew you. “Then just tell me! O-Or, give me, I don’t know, some idea of what’s going on, b-because this isn’t okay-”

“I know-”

A single tear seared his cheek. “So, if you don’t want to be with me, just say that! I’ll change!” You broke. Sobs wailed from your mouth, as your head sunk into the comfort of your hands. Eddie’s jaw had fallen slack in panic, as he never once saw you cry—let alone was the reason—with such anguish that it stabbed him with such profoundness. His hands worked without hesitation to bring your shuddering body close to his. “No, no! I-I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Secured in his lap, Eddie’s neck became dampened with the hot stream of tears that were coaxing out of your. “Sh, sh. Don’t cry, please, don’t, I’m so, so sor-”

“I’m pregnant.”

Where he once caressed your back in soothing rubs, he now stopped at the sudden revelation, as your eyes screwed shut with fear. He felt you tense, in fact, you both did. Stood still, you held your breath, feeling the bob of his throat, as you anticipated the next words that would come out of his mouth.

You severely underestimated the duration of fifteen seconds.

Because every second of silence felt like torture to your heart, and Eddie was agonizing you with his quietness. Your heartbeat was bleeding into your ears, body flamming hot with intense feelings, as you tried to find comfort in his hard body, but his arms weren’t holding you in the manner you needed most.

You pulled back. “God, Eddie, just say something!” Your wails had managed to snap something within him.

His eyes blinked straight, mouth moving to speak the words he had difficulty finding. Eddie’s hands instinctively found your back once more, loving on you properly, as your body was finally able to melt into his. He cradled your head, attempting the slight movements of rocking back-and-forth to soothe your sobs. “I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything that’s happening!”

“No, no, no, no. I-It’s gonna be okay, alright? It’s not your fault- holy shit…” Eddie whispered into your hair.

“A-And I-I don't know how it h-happened,” your anguished face pulled from his chest, as you sniffed the snot that congested your nose, while Eddie made quick work to smear off your hot tears. “I-I didn’t know how t-to tell you, I got so scared, I am scared!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.”

You coughed out the weeps that burrowed in your throat. “I didn’t want this to happen!” You choked. “I- we were safe, I-I don’t know what happened! I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I don’t want to stress you out-”

“No, baby, no.” His face fell in torment of seeing you in such despair.

“I just- I didn’t know how to tell you, Eddie.” You cried. “I know you don’t want t-this, and I panicked, because I don’t want you m-mad or-”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m not mad at you.” His hand firmly cupped your burning cheeks, as his head confirmed his words with a fervent shake against your thoughts. “I- how could I be? I did this, too. I’m right here with you.”

“We-we just have a lot going on, I don't know what we’re going to do! A-And I just don’t even want to think about it!” Your body wracked with your spilling tears.

“We- no, baby, we have options, y’know? If we’re not ready, we don’t have to do this. There’s, um, there’s adoption, right? Someone- we could help someone.” You shook your head adversely to his advice, as your words were true: you didn’t want to think about it. “O-Or, they- we can, y’know, get rid of it.” For lack of a better term. Your eyes sealed shut, head gnawing with pain. “You can totally do that, it’s okay, we don’t have to tell anybody if you don’t want to, just between us, and-”

Despite his best efforts, his words were doing little to soothe you over, as—though it was the necessary discussion—you weren’t looking for next-step solutions to your problem. “Eddie.” You quietly pleaded.

“No, I’m serious. Don’t feel bad if you don’t want it. Or, maybe you do, a-and that’s okay, too. I’ll help, I’ll do everything. We can… c’mon, sweetheart, you know I wouldn’t leave you alone with this baby if you really wanted it-”

“Stop, Eddie! Please, stop!” You cried. “I don’t want to hear that, don’t want to think about it!” Your vision blurred away his pretty face. “I-I can’t right now! It’s all I-I’ve been thinking about for the past days, I’m t-tired, and just wanna-”

“Okay, so just cry.” His arms had tightened around you before you could process his movements. “Just let it all out.” Eddie had laid you down against the cushioned floor, letting your head fall back against the crocheted throw pillow threaded by his late grandmother, with its couple of loose strands of yarn soaking up your tears.

Eddie Munson, as always, had laid with you, yet he never felt how utterly desperate you were in needing him than he did right now. You endured the humid heat of your cries in the crook of his neck, if it meant embedding yourself into his body.

Just to feel him.

With how much you deprived yourself from his touch, it felt dire to suffocate in the familiarity of his smell to drown in contentment.

You grappled onto any piece of skin he had to offer through his faded t-shirt, as you frightfully clung to him. Your tears bled through the fabric of his clothes, as he gave you nothing but the safe embrace of his being that managed to make you break down in his arms.

It was everything you needed.

It was 7:03 P.M. Your sobs had knocked you into a deep sleep, where your mind was finally at ease from the troubles that tormented you.

And Eddie Munson hadn’t taken his eyes off of you for exactly seventy-two minutes.

You looked so peaceful, despite the rawness that rimmed your eye sockets. For once, the fresh air was able to seep into your nose, and fan out through the small opening of your mouth. Your face had cemented itself into Eddie’s chest, and from every chance he took to make slight movements for his comfort, it seemed your subconscious wasn’t ever planning on letting you leave his touch. So, despite the unfortunate circumstance, his mind was able to come to the realization that you did, in fact, still love him.

Because you desperately were in love with Eddie Munson. Things had just gotten scary.

It was getting late. Dinner should have been happening now, and given how long Eddie took to dice an onion, he knew dinner would take nearly an hour and a half to make—it was blanket fort date night, for crying out loud, he couldn’t do the usual spaghetti. It had to be gourmet. Like, lasagna.

Yeah, spaghetti’s older cousin, that’s totally gourmet! But now, wait a minute, how does one exactly make la-

You suddenly shifted, and Eddie quieted his thoughts, despite them never even being spoken aloud. If he knew anything about you, it was your ardent stance on never eating dinner without television. And with episode twenty-three of season four of your four favorite ladies airing at 9:00 P.M, it seemed your subconscious knew, too, to wake you up for the occasion.

You freak.

Through the soft murmurs of your waking, Eddie could hear the rumble of your tummy. You had been in a rush this morning, but even then, you promised him to never again consider a vending machine’s pack of peanut M&Ms lunch. Clearly, you did today. Liar.

Because of his quick movements to get up, his aimed forehead kiss misdirected to your eyeball, forcing it to flutter open much earlier than you wanted. You groaned at his departure, watching him quickly crawl away through your bleary vision.

Despite your head feeling like thirty pounds of cement, and the suffocating heat the blanket fort was harboring, the commotion that occurred just outside within the kitchen interested you enough to slowly sit up against your sore back’s protest.

After a minute of his bare feet pattering against the linoleum, Eddie’s head emerged into the blanket fort. “Here, grab this.” His arm extended out the overly large latched-lid mason jar—once occupied by honey, before it inevitably ran out a year ago—filled to the brim with iced water, and garnished with the two recycled straws from a once Benny’s Burgers milkshake. Your little face scrunched with tired confusion. “I ran out of, like, nice cups. This okay?”

Ran out? Eddie just didn’t want to do the dishes. You huffed out a chuckle, “Yeah.” Your hands grappled to hold onto the cold jar, its condensation drenching your fingers.

“And I- ugh.” He grunted, as his large body entered the tiny space. “Got some, uh, other things.” His prized notebook flew in with intentions of being used later. Perhaps for the excuse of giving him something to do, while you watched The Golden Girls. He wasn’t fooling anyone, though, he always eventually succumbed to the TV show, despite how cool he wanted to look.

“Why do you have that?” You tiredly giggled, as he settled in with a tub of vanilla frosting—Wayne’s fifty-second occurred three weeks ago, of course, you both had to make a cake… even if the older man grimaced with a faux mm to, at least, satisfy your efforts—and two spoons. The small ones, Eddie was quite aware of your love for tiny utensils.

“Well, I, uh, I know it’s no better than those M&Ms you ate for lunch.” Caught. Your lips flattened into a straight line. “Yeah, caught your ass,” he laughed, “but I’ll give you a pass, since I put a baby in you.” And he laughed even harder at your unamused face. “Actually, no, I take that back, I need you to actually feed my kid, because what baby ever looked cute while looking like they’re on a keto diet?”

You didn’t want to laugh, damn it. “Eddie!” You whined. But his humor was surely putting a suppressed smile on your face, which totally would have shown if it wasn’t for your stubbornness.

“Alright, alright, but I do know pregnant ladies like random shit, hell, I like random shit, so until dinner’s ready… bon appétit!” The French heritage he didn’t have came out with a horrible accent. “It’ll make you happy, right?”

Sugar in a tube, how could it not?

“I don’t know… kinda makes me teeth hurt-”

“Oh, my god, woman, you’re killing me!” His dramatic flair sent him falling back.

There was your sweet laughter. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” You giggled with liveliness. “Thank you, thank you for the food… ish.”

You pried open the container lid, as Eddie handed you a spoon to down mouthfuls of whipped sweetness. There was a quietness to the moment that you didn’t want to disturb.

The creaminess of frosting, as it scooped; the clink of silver from the spoon clashing with your teeth; the melodic swirl of ice cubes floating in the water; the soft squeak of your lips sucking through the straw to retrieve the refreshment.

It was all too perfect.

Eddie’s hand had brandished your ankle, twiddling with your sock, as his eyes never left your figure. You could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for the moment you’d speak about the situation. But it wasn’t coming like he hoped. You quite hated how those who never knew him could brand him with that trait of immaturity, when really it was you picking at a container of frosting to avoid communication.

“So-”

“Do we have any Doritos left?” You interjected.

Eddie blinked. “Uh… no, don’t think so. Think I took the last bag to practice.”

You dramatically frowned at him, as he softly chuckled at your exaggerated disdain. “Want some with the frosting.” You muttered, clearly unbothered by his grimace, as you scooped another spoonful into your mouth.

“Christ, you really are pregnant.” Eddie Munson had you heartily laughing.

“No, I used to do that way before I was pregnant, when I was a kid.” You defended.

Eddie playful scoffed. “And I’m the one who got bullied when I was a kid.” His hand splayed over his chest.

“The sweetness goes really well with the savoriness!” You proclaimed. “Plus, you know Doritos have, like, a little tang, especially if they’re seasoned well, so it balances it out perfectly!” Quite the defense you had there.

“And you like that?” What a big bully. You giggled at his face of disbelief.

“I don’t want to hear any of this, it’s your child inside me, God knows they’ll probably make me eat even weirder things!”

Humor. Eddie Munson clocked it. You were only going to get through this with humor. “No, no, I’m making this kid normal, it’s your Doritos-dipped-in-frosting genes that are gonna wonk ‘em up!”

“No, I’m not!” Laughter flooded your mouth that dropped in disbelief, and suddenly you were flinging your spoon to traject whatever bit of frosting that was left to hit him. “You’re just as weird as me, if not, even more!” Eddie’s stomach was cramping at your utter offense, as he scraped off the white cream from his face, only to eat it.

“Okay, well, listen if that’s the case, then can I show you something weird?” He proffered a shy smile. “But I’m already telling you now it’s weird, so you can’t be weird about being weirded out just because you find what I’m about to show you to be too weird. Alright? No weird comments.”

You snickered. “That was a lot of ‘weirds.’” Eddie raised a pointed brow at you. “Okay, I promise I won’t be weird, show me.”

With your promise, Eddie had reached to grab his small notebook, and maneuvered his way to sit himself right beside you; knees knocking and all with how close he wanted to be.

The pages had bulked up between the binding with just how much his pens and pencils engraved into the paper. You watched him flip through sketches and lyrics, a plethora of campaign ideas, even an old math equation here and there from when he attended school, and decided to actually pay attention, only to realize calculus could be fun if he just understood it.

When it came to a particular page, dated on the fifteenth of seven months ago, Eddie had come to a halt, and your eyes inevitably landed on the detailed sketch of a sleeping figure that looked oddly like you (not oddly, two years in his presence was like being the muse for Johannes Vermeer).

“Um, I, uh- I mean, of course, my number one choice for a name is Ozzy.” He awkwardly laughed, as his finger fidgeted with the page, where your eyes were finally able to analyze the random scribble of names that blended aside the doodles of dark wizards.

“Ozzy? You thought of names?” You incredulously peered up at him.

Eddie laughed. “Before, b-before this whole thing happened, if that even makes it any less, uh, weird.” It was quite evident his sudden shyness was forcing him to stumble over his words. “Y-Y’know, just like one of those mindless things you think about when you’re, um, like, bored. And, w-well, really this is actually your fault, because you fell asleep on me,” his finger reverted back to the sketch of yourself, “so, really it was like you were forcing me to come up with these names, since I had nothing to do.”

“And, of course, you landed on Ozzy.” You giggled, as your head dropped to his shoulder.

“Well, duh, what Ozzy isn’t cool? Like Ozzy Osbourne, and… y’know… that other famous Ozzy from… history- but don’t worry about that! Just think about how perfect it’ll be when this kid becomes a rockstar like his old man,” Eddie proudly pointed to himself, “and they already got a metal name like Ozzy!”

Eddie Munson never failed to make you laugh. “Okay, but, like, what if this kid doesn’t want to be a rockstar? And y’know, now we’re the ones responsible for putting an Ozzy into the, I don’t know, medical field. Would you really trust a Dr. Ozzy to do your colonoscopy?”

He pondered for a second. “Boom!” His fingers snapped. “Okay, we’ll do Oswald! If I can make Edward work, this kid can make Oswald work!” He protested.

“Oh, great, just like Oswald Mosley.” Your eyes playfully rolled.

“Yeah, see! A cool Ozzy!”

You laughed. “Eddie, I’m, like, a hundred percent certain that dude was some British fascist.”

“Shit, okay, well, scratch Oswald; Oswald sucks. We’re going back to Ozzy; Ozzy’s cool.” Christ, he was too perfect to handle.

Your cheek squished against his shoulder, as you looked up to smile at him. “And if she’s a little girl?”

Eddie beamed, coming down to plant his lips to yours. “I got that basis covered, too, babe.” You looked to where his finger was repeatedly tapping, and squinted your eyes to ready his barely eligible chicken scratch.

“Ar… Arwen Munson.” You eyed him suspiciously. “What Arwen have you met that’s got you wanting to name our future child that?”

He chuckled. “From Lord of the Rings.” And he chuckled even more witnessing your dramatic eye roll, because how predictable! “But not just Munson, I got your last name down with it, too, if you’re more into that. Totally with that feminist shit, if you want me and the gremlins taking your last name.”

“Oh, yeah?” You preened.

“Mhm!” He smiled. “Could definitely hyphenate, but imagine the curveball the county clerk would get when they realize I’m changing my last name to yours. Think your folks would be okay with me becoming one of them?”

Despite the fervent shake of your head, your smile never disappeared. “They’ll probably hate you for getting me pregnant before marriage.”

Eddie snorted. “Ha! Our kid’s a bastard. Even I wasn’t. Jesus H. Christ, we’re really screwing him up.”

“Him?”

“Ah, shit, just kinda came out as the default, maybe I’m not with that feminist shit as much as I thought.”

Eddie Munson was always one to make your cheeks hurt with how much he made you smile. “You’re so stupid.” You giggled, as he winked at you.

You fell back against the pillows, as Eddie followed suit. Looking up was quite pretty. No matter how cramped or hot it was becoming in the blanket fort, the bleeding of twinkling colors made it all bearable.

Like a little world just for him and you.

You breathed heavily for a second, your hand linking with his. “Do you really want babies?”

You heard his prolonged sigh. “I don’t know.” His eyes absentmindedly counted the individual bulbs of Christmas lights. “Don’t really like that white-picket-fence bullshit-”

“Prefer the trailer park chain fence?”

“Shut up.” He quietly laughed. “But, uh, I don’t know, I kinda like the idea of some little thing looking like you.” His hand squeezed yours.

Heat flooded your cheeks, as your heart pattered with anticipation. “Even if it cries and poops all the time?”

“Hell, you and I already do that all the time now, think we can manage a third.” Then he paused. “But… I also kinda like just having you to myself, too. Just you and me holding down the fort.” He felt quite proud of irony.

Giggles were bubbling in your chest, before you took a minute to rationally think. “Eddie.”

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“We were barely able to pay our light bill this month.”

“And we’re shit cooks.” He added.

“And our home smells like weed.”

“And you like to eat Doritos dipped in frosting.”

You both finally turned to one another, as his eyes met yours, where you laughed through the glassy tears that were flooding your eyes. “Having a baby sounds really scary-” Your voice broke like the little girl you suddenly felt like you were. Your soft cries were wiped by Eddie’s chest, as his arms protected you. “B-But getting rid of it a-also seems scary.”

His lips brushed against your cheeks in gentle shushes, as his whispers of, “I know, I know, I know,” bled into your ear.

Twenty and twenty-two with ambitions that ran higher than the sky. And yes, perhaps grueling shifts at Joe’s Auto Repair or long hours at B. Dalton Bookseller weren’t exactly the desired dream, but they were stepping stones to the fruition of your aspirations.

A little mini Munson wasn’t exactly going to fit in as easily as the housewives of Hawkins, Indiana made it out to be. Not in a trailer. Not in your life.

“I just- I just don’t want to regret my decision. I don’t want to be selfish.” Your body shuddered into his body.

His hand caressed your hair, as you felt his head shake to reject your thoughts. “Aw, no, baby, c’mon don’t be like that.” His lips soaked in your salty tears with his delicate kisses. “That’s not even true. Nothing you decide to do will be selfish.”

“No, but it is! W-What if I do what them, b-but money becomes an issue, it a-already is! They won’t have g-good clothes, a nice crib, not even their own room-”

“So, I’ll pick up more shifts at the shop, baby-”

You bore into his eyes. “But I want you to be happy, Eddie.”

Two years ago, when you both were still roaming the halls of Hawkins High, Eddie Munson had vowed to stick by your side through it all. High off of weed or not, the promise was real, cemented into his heart, and devoted to keep up with.

Eddie whispered against your lips. “Being with you is what makes me happy.”

“But you deserve a life outside of this trailer.” Your hand crept to his cheek. “And anything I decide seems to not make me a good person. I just want to be a good person.” You sniffled. “If I have the baby now, it’ll be for my own selfish reasons of just wanting them. If I don’t, I’ll be for my own selfish reasons of not wanting to give up my life.”

Eddie didn’t even mind you coughing in his face. “Y-You were right before, we could, y’know, help a couple out, but the pregnancy- I-I want my body, I don’t want to change, not if I don’t get to keep them. And even if I do, w-what if I take my baby home only to not feel anything for them like a mother should? Then what?”

Eddie sighed, as his thumb swept under your eye. “I don’t know why you’re making those things out to be a bad thing.” Your brows furrowed. “This is between us, and only us. Not a goddamn person in this world deserves to know what we know, and they sure as hell don’t get a say in it.” His eyes blinked down the soft tears that invaded his face. And he graced it with a smile on his face. “You wanna baby, I’ll get Claudia to give us all of Henderson’s baby shit, lord knows that poor woman still hoards it.” You giggled through your congestion. “And if you don’t wanna baby, I’ll hold your hand for as long as the doctors will let me, and hell, I’ll take you to Vegas the next day to party your heart out.”

Laughing as the tears poured down both your faces, you crept in closer to smush your nose against his to glue your lips together.

Despite the salty taste invading your tongue, you devoured his mouth with the fervency of your love.

A sorry for the lack of communication; a thank you for being the greatest person ever.

With your teeth sinking into his lips, Eddie begrudgingly had to be an adult. “Fuck, if you don’t stop, we’re gonna cotinue having the same problem of you getting pregnant.” Even in the scariest of times, your Eddie was able to dissipate the fear in your heart, only to consume it with utter awe at the man before you. Your foreheads stuck together, as his hand circled your back, before whispering close. “Do you, and only you, have any idea as to what you wanna do?” He kissed his support to your lips.

You sighed.

You found out you were pregnant one week and three days ago. In fact, the four sticks—excessive, yes—continued to remain in your purse for Eddie’s own peace to never discover. As much as you could go back-and-forth in logistics and dreams, there was always the truth of what you wanted for you and Eddie that seemed to circle back whenever you decided to give your mind a rest.

It was always there, just hidden in the tangle of overthinking burdens. Eddie Munson would never let that be a bad thing, he quite liked your mind very much.

So, you wouldn’t let it be a bad thing.

You could hear his voice already, “It just means you’re thorough. I, sure as hell, am not.”

You delicately smiled, as you peered into his eyes. “Yeah.”

And Eddie was there to smile right back at you. “And how do you want me to help?”

“I don’t want your help. I just want you there with me through it all.”

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you

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lotreckk · 9 days ago

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ive decided to post it here too!!! information about my rook, yay

aethius "mercar" // rook for the veilguard, ma da’ise for the certain god of vengeance

age: 38-39 (he doesn't know the exact date)

height: ~5'3"

mbti: istj (close enough)

pronounce & sexuality: he/they demisexual

race & origin: tevinter city elf

class & subclass: mage, spellblade (knows basics of blood magic, but keeps quite about it)

faction: shadow dragons

"romance": elgar'nan

short description:

among the shadow dragons, aethius is known as an elf who literally forced ashur to accept himself into the organization by spying on their operations and presenting a pile of venatori corpses as "an offering". aethius asked them for help in finding information about his missing friend, a laetan scholar, named celestine mercar, in exchange for aethius's own service and skills. always silent about his past, he never quite fitted into the shadow dragons, still considering the world to be a strictly hierarchical structure with slavery and suffering being the inevitable elements of life. however, he loved minrathous, and he was smart and efficient, eager to slay the venatori, slave traders, even some magisters, viewing them as pathetic rot, destroying tevinter from within. he possessed the strange amount of knowledge about tevinter history too and rituals and easily navigated through different kind of ruins, including those under minrathous. after a while, aethius learned to trust tarquin and ashur. that was how they found out that he had once been a slave, although aethius dropped this information as casually as the fact that he had always loved cats.

one day, he got acquainted with varric, who was searching for the traces of "the dread wolf" in tevinter for lady-inquisitor lavellan. though, the shadow dragons were too busy, solving their own problems, aethius agreed to help varric. his reason was simple: they learned that there would be venatori mages at the slave market deal, who both might know about the dread wolf and not long ago had been in the same tevinter ruins, that celestine had been interested in. their plan worked but they caught an eye of tevinter authorities. thus, ashur and tarquin talked aethius into joining varric in his hunt for the dread wolf, who turned out to be fen'harel, the ancient elven trickster-god, whom aethius called fenrir for a while, according to tevinter tradition.

funfacts:

- aethius is obsessed with maps & has a detailed map of the catacombs of minrathous.

- he speaks with an accent & inserts words in tevene into his speech. in elven, he knows the basic set for tourists & random names of ancient artifacts.

- aethius prayed to lusacan once in his life (it didn't help, but as a moral support).

- dalish culture makes less sense to him than tevinter culture & stories about the ancient elven empire.

- he has a habit of drinking the most terrible coffee.

- slave traders & the venatori back in minrathous call him "that damned incaensor" (derogatory slang for a magic-using slave - dangerous but useful if controlled) and he wears it with pride. yes, he is very dangerous for them.

backstory:

aethius was born into slavery in minrathous and the entire period of his life up to the age of 15-16 often merges into a blurred canvas in his memory. his master, magister arida, was an altus mage engaged both in politics and in the study of ancient tevinter, in particular, the former temples and sanctuaries, dedicated to the old gods, which had not been not transformed into the circles of magi. he craved to possess the knowledge of the remnants of powerful magic in such places.

when aethius's magic manifested, his master taught him some basics because it was still dangerous to leave an ignorant child without any control over his magic on his own. though, magister arida quickly returned to his studies, and that's why aethius's magic has always been of the chaotic destructive type, something practical yet unstable.

aethius became a kind of a personal errand-slave-boy who was taught to silently and effectively clean up the mess after magister's rituals (and so he learned about blood magic). because of this, his relationships with other slaves and servants were bad, but he didn't really care about it as long as he could have been a useful instrument for his master. magister arida praised the old gods, explaining their "silence" by the decline of tevinter and its people. but even the unworthy hands, such as the hands of some dirty little elf, could shed blood in the name of the great dragons.

when aethius was about 16, his master found a place called sanctum lusacan under minrathous and conducted some experiments with magic and old rituals there. this lasted until an incident occurred in which magister arida came into conflict with his "colleagues" and they killed each other right in the sanctuary. this event was both horrifying and spectacular with spells flashing and summoned demons screaming around. aethius managed to hide in this chaos. it was the only time in his life when aethius actually prayed. aethius knew this place was sacred and he knew that his master wanted to hear the voices of the old gods. so he prayed for lusacan's grace because he reaized that really didn't want to die. the gods remained silent but this helped aethius to calm down somehow. for the first time, aethius decided something for himself and run away, though he did feel guilty about it.

shortly after, he met his future best friend and short-time crush - celestine mercar, a young laetan mage and scholar, who was more into history and the past than anything else around him. celestine needed a qualified servant who would accompany him on his travels and fieldwork without reporting to his father every step. aethius's position was not completely legal in tevinter, but somehow he became celestine's assistant (normal assistant this time) and, then, his closest friend.

they travelled a lot for some time, visiting ruins in different parts of thedas. celestine was very interested in old tevinter and its connection to ancient elven empire. though he was never one of those mages and magisters who praised the dominance of tevinter, celestine was first and foremost a scholar. thus, aethius listened with feigned reluctance to his friend's endless chatter about history and somehow remembered many random facts to this day. besides, he read some of celestine's books to entertain himself during long nights without anything better to do. it was also then that aethius learned to use magic properly and gained experience in exploring ruins and dealing with what one might encounter there. the thin threads of connection between arlathan and what tevinter people use in their country to this day began to fascinate aethius too. although he could never see himself as being "elven enough", he sympathized with these stories through the tevinter lens.

celestine had to get married after his father's death, since he inherited the family title. he had to settle down in the city and give up endless trips, and aethius stayed with him, periodically doing his own things in minrathous or traveling somewhere for his friend. unfortunately, celestine's wife, to whom celestine was deeply attached, died, leaving behind a child. celestine, depressed because of the inability to finish his projects and the death of his wife, shut himself off from the world in his cabinet, absorbed in books. lucero mercar - his child - was taken care of by servants and sometimes by aethius. it was not a pleasant experience for any of them, because lucero themselves felt unwanted and unloved, and aethius believed that children should be raised like in a military barracks on the principle of "learn how to swim or drown".

by the age of 18, lucero ran away from home, tired of their broken household. aethius did not know where they had gone, but he suspected that they headed to anderfels, because lucero loved heroic stories about the grey wardens. celestine also "disappeared" one day, leaving without telling anyone where he was going. aethius was left alone and lost again, still struggling to find his own path in life without dedicating himself to someone else.

so, aethius decided to at least find his friend and that was the reason why he joined the shadow dragons - they had information about all kind of things. aethius has never been an ardent supporter of the fight against slavery, not believing that there can be a future without rigid hierarchy and order. however, he had his own standards for who should be the leader of the people, so he was happy to eradicate the venatori, slave traders or any other enemy of the shadow dragons he considered undeserving of their position.

he met varric after a while, got entangled in the unimaginable events, which against his own will put him into a leading position, met a lot of people and, apparently, gods too. these events forced aethius to come face to face with all the fears, doubts and identity crises that he had avoided all these years, convincing himself that his life was "normal" and that he, not a person, but a tool, was simply not capable of living in any other way.

in addition to unwilling meetings with solas in the fade, aethius found his mind accidentally connected to another elven god, who was much more insistent in continuing conversations in aethius's dreams. aethius tried to avoid sleeping for days at a time because talking to lusacan- elgar'nan caused him an emotional turmoil worse than solas's remarks about his decisions. however as their communication developed further, aethius discovered in his mind a conflicting interest in elgar'nan, a subtle desire to understand a man whose views partly coincided with how he himself perceived the world.

aethius reluctantly and slowly changed some of his beliefs during the veilguard events, healing his old "wounds". and so he began to wonder whether elgar'nan had always been the embodiment of tyranny, or he had been corrupted. whether he had changed and hardened himself so much in the conviction of his own righteousness to protect and guide his people that the spirit he had been before has faded into obscurity.

personality traits:

- aethius is efficient and goal-oriented, always does his job well and feels it his duty to correct mistakes if he makes them. aethius can be very dedicated to his cause, however often not because of his beliefs but because he is determined to finish the job.

- he tends to be straightforward to the point when people consider him rude. although aethius really has a venomous tongue, he often just hates unnecessary small-talk. he can be sarcastic in a good mood, though his jokes are often dry and dark.

- he has a sharp mind, attentive to details, and easily invents ways to solve problems, always making plans. however, in everyday life, it is very difficult for him to change his views and get used to something new.

- aethius might be judgemental at times. it is difficult for him to apologize and express care verbally. he hates the concept of regrets, considering those who justify themselves and cry about the past as liars and hypocrites, if not weaklings. and so he does repress his own regrets, he hates feeling sorry for himself or acknowledging his own pain in any way.

- aethius prefers order to chaos, struggling to understand the concept of freedom, of life without rules and restrictions. it has been a long time since he was this child who wiped the blood from the floors of his master's mansion with an empty gaze, but he has his own standards, rules and ideals by which he lives. aethius would never admit it, but he does crave approval too, maybe even recognition of his old and hidden pain, which sometime makes it easy to influence him.

- deep down, aethius is a loyal and deeply attached person to those he trusts. it is hard for him to let people go to the point when he refuses to accept celestine's and varric's deaths he learns about during the events of the veilguard.

abilities:

aethius is good with knives and daggers, combining their use with his magic.

he mainly uses fire and lightning elements. aethius is familiar with the basics of blood magic and knows how to use it, although he rarely does it. he has not received a theoretical magical education and it is sometimes difficult for him to control his connection with the fade, though he is not afraid of spirits and demons.

he knows many random facts about the history of thedas and quite a lot about the history of ancient tevinter and arlatan in the works of tevinter scholars. in addition, he is familiar with some rituals of worship and prayers to the old gods.

aethius draws maps and it helps him calm his mind. thanks to this, he also easily navigates unfamiliar terrain.

#art #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #dav #rook mercar #oc: aethius #elgarook #my ocs #my oc #my art

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starlit1daydream · 10 months ago

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Gordon Freeman's classpect: and why you're all wrong about it

well forgive me for the hostile-sounding title there, but as it stands i'm yet to see a single other person with this take.

the unanimous agreement for gordon's title seems to be heir of hope - which i will give credence to as making a lot of sense at face value. the heir is the class of the typical 'hero' and hope is the aspect of belief, faith, deficiation, angelic symbolism. on paper, it works perfectly for a man held in such high regard as a saviour and liberator.

but what of gordon's personality? what little of it we see, of course.

the heir of hope argument applies a classpect to gordon not as a person, but as a concept.

gordon freeman the concept is an heir of hope, for sure.

but gordon freeman, the man?

gordon freeman, the scientist who was late to his first day on the job? whose brief glimpses into his personality include blowing up a man's casserole for no clear reason and solving every problem with a crowbar?

the gordon freeman who has been jumping from trauma to trauma for twenty years under the machinations of a sinister interdimensional bureaucrat?

hear me out here.

gordon freeman is a bard of void.

now, i should probably explain my thoughts on the bard class and the void aspect before going any further, since this entire take hinges on my very specific take on both things.

in my eyes, the bard (the passive destroyer) is somebody who initially ghosts adherence to their opposing aspect, until a traumatic incident or dire crisis suddenly pushes them into an influx of their real aspect. they change their tune from passively destroying their aspect in themselves to passively destroying through their aspect. bards are capricious, unpredictable people who are often cowardly, avoidant or lazy in their ways.

the aspect of void, the antithesis of light, deals with the eldritch and the unknown. void is shadow, void is doubt and obsfucation, it is by its very nature unknowable and exists in the dark corners of one's mind. void is narrative irrelevance given (a lack of) form.

so, how does this fit into gordon freeman's narrative?

let's get into his head.

gordon freeman is a man who, prior to the black mesa incident, has lived his life adhering to knowledge and science. he's studied, got a degree, probably quite passionate about science. the statistics, the thirst for knowledge and understanding, all of this paints a picture of light.

light players are the ultimate students, as the extended zodiac says, they are the knowledge-seekers who wish to understand the world around them and comprehend the most fortuitous path better than any other.

the guy shows up late to his first day on the job. a man with more degrees than should be feasible and he can't even show up to work on time. this is the first hint of gordon being a bard, it's an incredibly lazy and capricious action that also hints at his passive destruction of light through his lack of fortune.

and it's that fateful test that changes everything - you all know the one i mean.

the one that suddenly inundates him with void. suddenly, gordon's world is unknowable, incomprehensible, he is a slave to the plot and forced to keep driving forward a narrative to which he ultimately has no say in. it's another example of the traits of a bard, who generally do seem to be reduced to narrative devices. (we see this a lot with gamzee.)

gordon is consumed among the alien and eldritch, and emerges from black mesa's ruins anew. a man whose existence is defined by contradiction, doubt, obfuscation, and everything that void stands for.

we see it again and again throughout the series. his very existence within the combine's rigidly defined, meticulous and mechanical empire defies principle. he is the anticitizen, his presence within their world is a contradiction just by his very being. he is undocumented, an anomaly that shouldn't be. and that scares the shit out of them.

and it should! because, as a bard of void should, gordon destroys their empire through void. his very existence is enough to spark the revolution (which in itself is tied to the aspects of hope and rage) and the destruction he brings about is through his nature as the anticitizen. the contradiction, the hole in their logic. he casts doubt upon the system that they've forced into place and he does so while continually being surrounded by the eldritch and the unknown.

he does so while in servitude to the eldritch, actually. i think that g-man himself is a player of space (to be more specific, i think he is a lord) but i think that there is also a lot of void symbolism within the g-man's character and his 'employers' more specifically.

and you know what really cinches my argument?

gordon freeman, player of void, embodiment of the unknown and the obsfucation, of the silence and emptiness, of the doubt and darkness?

he never utters a single word.

i will revise this entire thing once i wake up tomorrow because it's currently 10pm for me and this is going to look incredibly lazily worded/formatted when i get up in the morning

but for now i suppose you can all take this rambling mess of uncoordinated madness and tell me how wrong i am

#gordon freeman #half life #homestuck #bard of void #bard class #void aspect #homestuck analysis #classpect analysis

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itsthatpearl · 17 days ago

Text

Layout idea from @secret-smut-sideblog 🩸

Previous Chapter

Astarion x F!OC

Dawn of Love

Chapter 8: A Little Death

AO3 LINK

Astarion reveals Aura something he has never revealed to anyone else.

Word count: 2.6k

Thank you Cas and Kris for beta reading <3

TRIGGERS: trauma, angst, fingering, oral (f!receiving) fluff, L-bombs, handjob, p in v sex, multiple orgasms.

----

Gale handed me a plate and smiled, probably trying to make me feel better. I smiled back at him as best as I could.

I still didn’t know if we had made the right choice when we freed the seven thousand spawns to the Underdark from Cazador’s crypts. It had made Astarion weird in a way. Numb. He said he just needed time.

Him being safe was all that mattered to me, but I still couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt from my heart. What if this is just another catastrophe waiting to happen. What if freeing the spawns was a big mistake.

“You did the right choice. You and Astarion” Gale said, taking me into a warm hug. At least my friends approved our actions.

I nodded and sighed.

“I hope so” I muttered, suddenly bursting into tears.

Gale held me even closer.

“What is is, Aura? Why are you crying? We won, Astarion is okay, you saved so many lives” he hushed.

I sobbed into his tunic wetting the deep purple fabric with my tears.

“I failed him. He wanted to ascend, and I ruined his life. And I promised the Devil I would help Astarion do it” I quavered.

The wizard soothed me by stroking my hair.

“You didn’t ruin his life. You will both see this was for the best. And what comes to the Devil, I promise he won’t be a problem” he said with a calming tone.

I nodded and after sobbing for a moment I calmed down and just listened to Gale’s heartbeat.

“Thank you. For being such a good friend” I whispered.

He took a long, deep breath in and nodded.

“Of course. You matter to me, Aura. You matter to all of us. And Astarion too” he said quietly.

“What about me?” a voice purred behind us.

I turned to see Astarion standing head slightly cocked to the side. I dried my eyes and couldn’t help but smile.

“Nothing. It’s dumb” I said and let go of Gale.

“Can I speak to you?” Astarion said softly, raising a brow and offering his hand to me.

Gale nodded, gesturing me to go. I stood up taking Astarion’s hand.

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

He gave me a playful glance and started leading me away from the camp.

“I want to show you something I haven’t shown anyone else before”

We walked hand in hand quietly. The air was warm, but I could sense we were both struggling to find the correct words in this situation.

“I guess I have to get used to not seeing the sun ever again soon” Astarion said, breaking the silence.

I stopped walking and looked at him.

“Don’t…don’t say that” I tried my best to keep myself from tearing up again. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole….or a way to cure your vampirism…or…or…” I started sobbing again.

Astarion hushed and wrapped his arms around me.

“Maybe, but even if I could control the tadpole, it’s a dangerous game” he sighed. “I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find some new trick, reassert itself, and make me a slave again. Or waiting to find a cure that we might never find” he said quietly and kissed my head.

I looked up at him. His eyes were so gentle.

“Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom” he whispered.

I closed my eyes.

“I…I don’t know what to do” I whispered back.

I felt his lips softly pressing onto my forehead.

“Me neither. But we have time to figure it out” he said as he took my hand and started walking again.

I glanced at Astarion confused. I stared at a gate that led into a graveyard.

“What are we doing here?” I whispered.

He smiled softly, opening the gate and walked in. It was quiet, as we were the only ones there.

The moon casted a beautiful, yet haunting light, that created shadows around us.

Astarion stopped in front of a gravestone. It was old, that was for sure. You couldn’t see what it said, as the vines around it had gone wild and grown all around it.

I watched the rogue in silence as he kneeled down and wiped the stone.

“Astarion Ancunín, from 229 to 268” I whispered while reading the runes written in elvish.

He came to stand next to me.

“Nearly two hundred years, and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there” he said while looking at his grave. “I had to punch through the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today”.

I shook my head.

“You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force”

Astarion sighed.

“Maybe, but he did take it. There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock” he claimed sadly.

There was a long silence.

“For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want” he added.

I was afraid to open my mouth, but felt like I had to say something.

“And what do you want?” my voice came out almost as a whisper. Afraid to know the answer.

He turned to look at me.

“You…I want you” he started to smile slightly.

I felt my heart skip a beat.

“You were by my side through all of this. Through…bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do” he smiled more. “I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that”.

I felt a single tear drop on my cheek.

Astarion turned and sighed.

“I should probably fix this” he muttered and kneeled in front of the gravestone once again.

He started carving something onto the cold stone. A new year. The beginning of the rest of his life.

I sat down on my knees to look at him. The silver curls of his hair moved gently in the wind. His eyes looked determined but soft.

When he was done he moved next to me to admire his work.

“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to try living again” he smiled and turned to face me. “With everything that life has to offer” he said softly while taking my hands onto his.

I looked at him and smiled softly. I could feel him slightly caressing the back of my hands with his thumbs. His smile turned into more of a coyish grin.

“What…do you mean by that?” I asked, suddenly confused.

His grin got wider.

“If a night of passion is on offer, I…could be persuaded” his voice got lower, more seductive. But not the way it had been before. He stared deep into my eyes, smiling.

“Are you…are you sure?” I looked at him, searching for something, anything, to prove to me he wasn’t sure.

He looked away, letting my hand go.

“You know, I didn’t care for you when we first met. But I do now. Being with you is more than…lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance” he said, turning to look at me again and stopping for a beat.

I opened my mouth.

“I love you. I love this. And I want it all” he smiled.

I stared at him in silence.

Suddenly there was no wind, as if it had stopped just to hear this.

Astarion pulled me closer and placed a soft, lingering kiss on my lips.

I had forgotten to breathe, so when he pulled away I gasped for air.

“Astarion. I love you. I love you more than anything in this world” I said.

For a moment he smiled at me, before pushing me down onto the ground.

I watched as he moved on top of me to devour my lips once more. It felt like we hadn’t ever kissed before.

Astarion pulled away from the kiss for a moment.

“I’ve missed this” he whispered.

“Intimacy?” I asked quietly.

He nodded.

“Feeling free” he whispered before closing the space between us and kissing my neck.

I gasped and lifted my hand to grip his hair slightly.

“May I drink from you?” he said in between drowning the skin of my neck with kisses.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“Please do”.

He bit down, letting out a satisfied sigh.

I started sliding my hand down his back slowly as he drank me in. I could feel him growing hard every minute. My head started to feel dizzy, but I couldn’t locate if it was from the loss of blood, or the fact that I had to have him inside me as quickly as possible.

“Touch me, Aura. Please” he whimpered, almost pleading.

I didn’t need further encouragement.

As soon as my hand slid inside his breeches he moaned loudly into the quiet night air. He was already painfully hard and leaking precum.

Astarion placed sloppy, wet kisses on the spot he had bit and started moving down until I couldn’t reach his throbbing cock.

“Even though I would love to have the sweet relief immediately, I am a gentleman, and won’t leave the love of my life unsatisfied ever again” he grinned while kissing down my chest, opening buttons along the way.

“You have never left me unsatisfied” I did my best not to sound out of breath. “I never want you to do anything you don’t wa- AH!” I moaned loudly and grabbed a fistful of his hair as he closed his mouth around my clit.

“Shhh, I know my sweet. Now be quiet and enjoy…if you can” he grinned and started lapping my core with his hungry tongue.

I was not going to last long, and Astarion knew it. He pushed two fingers inside me, curling them just to the right spot. He still knew every single place that made me cry out his name.

And I did, while he lapped and sucked me, dragging me closer and closer to coming undone.

The cold ground beneath my back added just the right amount of pain to the sensations my body was feeling.

“Astarion” I whimpered as I felt my orgasm building up.

I got an approving hum in return, as his other hand interlocked our fingers together.

I came while gripping his hair and hand.

I opened my eyes to look at him, catching his breath as his lips glistened in the moonlight.

“That was…” I breathed out.

“Good?” Astarion smiled.

“Even you know that would be an understatement” I giggled as I sat up, grabbed his face and kissed him slowly. “You are so good to me, Astarion” I whispered. “Let me be good to you” I opened my eyes to look at him.

Silence.

“I trust you” Astarion said, eyes closed.

I kissed him slowly.

“You can tell me to stop at any moment” I smiled against his lips.

He answered by devouring my lips again.

I glid my fingers down his abdomen until they reached their destination. I wrapped my fingers around his length and gave it a lazy stroke.

Astarion’s breath hitched.

I looked at him.

“Don’t stop” he whimpered, brows furrowed in despair.

“I won’t” I whispered back and started moving my hand slowly up and down.

Tiny moans escaped his lips as I felt him grow even harder under my touch. I kissed his neck softly while working him closer to his climax.

“Fuck Aurora” he moaned.

I couldn't help but smile against his lips.

Suddenly he grabbed my hand, stopping it completely.

“I- Sorry I thought-” I started before he devoured my lips in a bruising kiss, which I welcomed with a soft moan, eyes closed.

After a couple of feverish kisses we both catched out breath. He placed kisses on my cheek, moving up to my ear and nipped it.

“Lay down” he ordered with a seductive tone, and as I opened my eyes, he looked at me with a hungry, desperate look.

I laid down, pulling him on top of me and kissed him deeply.

His fingers flew to toy with my clit, which made me gasp onto his lips. I was already soaking wet from the pure bliss I got from pleasuring him.

“My my, if I knew you’d enjoy touching me this much, I wouldn't had ever prohibited you from it” he purred as his dexterous fingers drew tiny circles on my flesh.

I would’ve answered him something back, but the feeling was so intense I couldn’t do anything but moan.

“Look at you, already so close” Astarion sighed and moved his fingers up to caress my breast.

I whined, frustrated by him.

“Tut tut, I will let you finish again my love, but only if you are deliciously wrapped around me, screaming my name while I fuck you” he growled into my ear.

I moaned loudly as he slowly pushed inside me.

It had been so long since we had sex. I had forgotten how big he was. His cock slid inside with no resistance, stretching me deliciously. I bit my lip and looked at my pale rogue. My eyes were met with his. Astarion catched his breath, opening his mouth. His hand came to grip my hip softly. Then he started moving.

Slowly at first. The air was filled with quiet pants, lips and skin smacking onto each other.

Then the pace got quicker. Pants turned into moans, kisses into gasps of air and the air was filled with sounds of Astarion’s hips snapping onto mine with a punishing pace.

“I- fuck” he started before letting out a loud moan. I felt my climax starting to build up quickly.

“I love you” he gasped. “And also I- I- I can’t hold myself much longer” he whimpered.

I moaned before looking into his eyes.

“Cum with me, my love” I whispered.

Two more pushes and we both stumbled into the sweet depths of our shared orgasm. Our sweat dripping bodies all tangled up on each other.

I hadn’t noticed how cold the night had become. As the heat between us calmed down, I started shivering. Astarion held me tighter against him, as if it would help at all. But I couldn’t care. I was too exhausted to move. “My love, you will catch a cold” he whispered.

“How horrible would that be…spending days in your arms” I muttered back.

“Unable to save the world? I don’t think so. You would do it even if you had the plague” he giggles quietly.

I smiled and kissed him.

“Are you okay?” I whispered.

“What do you mean my love? Of course I am okay” he smiled. “Don’t I look okay?” he raised a brow while giving a roguish smile, flashing a fang at me. “You do, better than okay” I nodded. “But I mean...this was our first time having sex after we decided to have a break from it” I stroked his cheek gently. “Are you feeling okay, do you want to talk about it?”.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

“I feel good. I want to take things slowly. This doesn’t mean we will do this every day now but…I don’t feel…used…with you” he breathed out and opened his eyes.

I smiled back and nodded.

“That is good. You set the pace, I follow” I whispered before kissing him softly.

#fanfic #smut #itsthatpearl #astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #og character #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #dawn of love

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thegreymoon · 8 months ago

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The Story of Minglan

LMFAOOOO

Show her who's the boss, Granny! She wants to fuck around with her shit sister, she can now also find out.

***

Yes, listen to your nanny, you shit-stirring evil-monger. She's not entirely stupid and sees you will lose.

You really should quit while you're ahead, live out your life in peace and enjoy your bajillion blood grandchildren from your worthless son and his endless string of concubines.

But you can't just do that because you're so greedy and bitter and would rather dig your own grave instead. Enjoy death, then!

***

LMAO, the arrogance!

Like his worthless, faithless ass deserves it. Like she had not prayed before she died not to meet him again.

If they do meet again, it will be so that she can extract all the wrongdoings in this life with his blood in the next. She will never love him again in any life.

***

And what good was his shitty love?

He sold her out, let her die in disgrace and ignominy, broken-hearted and betrayed, so that his shitty brothers could have more money to throw around and waste, and absolutely ruin other people's lives in the process. He loved her and he let her down so badly, it would be laughable if it was not so sad. And then he proceeded to take his self-loathing out on other people, including his own small child. He's disgraceful and each one of his wives deserves better in the next life, including the evil second Madam Qin.

***

Oh, she is definitely plotting her murder and thinks that now is the time, seeing as Gu Tingye is away.

And all that, for what? Her own son is beyond useless.

***

LOL, is she trying to curse herself?

If there is one thing I've learned reading Chinese web novels and watching c-dramas it's that you don't want to piss off the ghosts 😅😅 Things are, for once, not going her way and she's lost all her marbles.

***

Fantastic performance by this actress.

She's delightfully creepy and unhinged.

***

She's so, so deeply unhappy with how her life turned out.

She married at the top of the food chain but it was not enough because her husband was so worthless. Even as one of the most powerful, she was still so powerless in her own life and her agency was so limited. All she could do was scheme in the shadows. All this bitterness and bile is the result of her bitterness and discontent. Nothing she ever hoped for came to fruition.

***

OMG, the drama 🙄

She's so spoiled and ridiculous.

What do you mean Minglan and Granny Sheng won't just sit back and let her and her shitty sister ruin their lives? How uncharitable of them! Better throw a temper tantrum!

Poor Hualan, she is surrounded by imbeciles.

***

Oh, Hualan, you are talking in vain 🙄

Your mother is an imbecile and you certainly did not inherit your lovely common sense from her.

***

LMAO, could it be because you are one?

I cannot with these entitled people, demanding respect when they have done absolutely nothing to earn it.

***

Exactly, you worthless sack of shit!

Why didn't you know? Why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you stop it YEARS AGO? It's because you were too busy getting slaves and servants pregnant to care about your already living kids and the women whose lives you've already ruined. Fuck you.

***

LMAO, so useless.

There's no hurry, my dude! There are plenty of people still left in your household (and other households too) for her to murder!

***

I mean, not to be advocating for domestic violence here, but Jesus Christ, after everything she's done, this was richly deserved.

***

Listen, if she does, I will riot.

#the story of minglan #tsoml spoilers #tsoml ep60

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ivanovaisalwaysright · 7 months ago

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DATV Companion Guesses

Before any trailer or game play drops let's have some fun.

"We’ve tapped into Dragon Age’s deep lore and explored its most iconic factions to bring each of the seven companions and their stories to life,”

So 7 companions = 7 factions

The most likely guesses are the four factions featured in The Missing, the comic lead-in for Veilguard.

Grey Wardens (probably the elf Davrin from the leaks)

Antivan Crows (Lucanis Dellamorte?)

Veil Jumpers - Group working to manage the dangerous weird magic in the Arlathan Forest, contains Dalish, city elves, and humans at the least. (An Arcane/veil Archer, per one of the trailers?)

Shadow Dragons - Tevinter group who helps escaped slaves, possibly includes The Viper & Tarquin whom hunt down a Venatori collaborator in the Minrathous Shadows short story. (Neve Gallus? She is a contact of theirs, or they seem like the kind of group Calpernia would be a part of now Corypheus isn't around to shield her from the altus venatori members, or of course there's Viper himself)

The remaining 3 slots I'm guessing will be someone from the Inquisition and The couple of other factions featured in Tevinter nights and the da day short stories.

Secret Inquisition (probably Scout Lace Harding given the red headed f dwarf rogue in the leak)

The Mourn Watch - specialist group within the mortalitasi (Greater Dead, aka a complex spirit in a corpse? or a necromancer, perhaps Emmrich?)

Lords of Fortune - adventurer for hire group out of Rivain, including jobs like hunting monsters, delving into ruins, and stealing valuables. (A good place for a female Tal Vashoth fled south from Kont-aar?)

Honorable mentions - if one of the above didn't make it/is a background instead, or the secret Inquisition character is just a temp companion, some other good possibilities:

The Executors

Qunari

Kal sharok

The Siccari

My first choice for understudy would be Kal sharok - perhaps connected to the titans, Ghilan'nain's monster pools, or some other ancient mystery/dark secret. But whose to say?

Unlikely more than 3 of these will actually be familiar names.

Look forward to seeing if I get anything right 😛

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #DATV #veilguard #da:tv #dragon age: the veilguard #my posts

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tadpole-apocalypse · 11 months ago

Note

For Morgan x Astarion...at what point in the game's events did they start ~feeling~ for each other?

I know no one ever cares, but I am STILL SORRY for taking so long to answer this. Its an important question to me ; w ;

I bullied my partner into writing me a fanfic about this very topic actually, and while I am forbidden to share any excerpts until it is edited and completed (which won't be until after they finish Shadowbringers...ffxiv is ruining my life...) I am gonna bring up some of the plot to talk about Astarion’s feelings developing (as he was first to catch them).

In the Underdark, Morgan encounters the Sussur flower. She's never seen one, but has felt its effects on her magic before. Her wild magic surges were deemed too powerful and disruptive to her cult leader, and he shunt her magic off with a sussur enchanted item. Except, it didn't stop her wild magic surges at all, they queued. So when the item came off after 2 years of use, her compound and everyone in it was hit with 2 years of stored up wild magic surges all at once. The damage was catastrophic.

So feeling that same emptiness of her magic shut off sent her into a panic spiral, the longer her magic was shut off the more dangerous she became (oh gods another one of them capable of blowing up) and she was in such a state she could barely communicate and she looks to Astarion, the man sharing her bed, for support and he just...doesn't care. Tells her to get her magic back as he isn’t with her for her personality, and implies she’s useless to him without access to what makes her powerful.

Gale has to be the one to step in and be like, “oh dear don’t worry your connection to the weave will return here you look like you’re having a tough go of it, let’s step away from the glowing flower here…” and basically supports her first public display of emotional vulnerability with gentleness and empathy; all things she had wanted and foolishly expected from Astarion.

When she regains her composure she unloads on him, banishes him from her bed and tells him to find his own damn blood going forward. He ofc knows he fucked up bad when he can’t placate her so he tries to hunt on his own, but he finds the Underdark very difficult to find easy prey. He fails to hunt on his own, and the longer he goes without blood the weaker he becomes. He gets desperate enough to try to feed on rats again, but he can’t keep their blood down anymore. His senses get dulled, and he’s fumbling in battle more and more often.

After about a tenday, they’re finishing up their tasks in the Underdark before moving on through the shadow cursed lands, and everyone can see now Astarion is struggling. In battle and out. Now she’s had some time to deal with her emotions and feelings, Morgan relents and allows him to feed from her again. He goes cuckoo bananas on her blood and tries to do his suave lover performance but she tells him to be sincere and that she wants him to respond to her the way Gale did when she needs help, if this was to keep happening. She tells him she won’t put up with being talked to like that, again.

He agrees and says all the right things she needs to hear to keep providing him what he needs. But now it feels different, making these empty promises. Were they empty? What would it be like to be there for someone and support them? To be there for her? He starts to feel his first pangs of guilt and self loathing realizing he was acting exactly the same way he was when he was Cazador’s slave; no one told him to seduce and trick her but he did it anyways because its all he knew how to do to solve his problems. She wants something from him he’s never had to offer and when he tells her he can do that, he finds he wants it to be true.

#bg3: morgan #astarion x tav #answered asks

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wingedbreath · 8 months ago

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some of my favorite earthsea quotes:

• “The dance is always danced above the hollow place, above the terrible abyss.”

• “I think there’s an evil in us, in humankind. Trust denies it. Leaps across it. Leaps the chasm.”

• “Only one thing in the world can resist an evil-hearted man. And that is another man. In our shame is our glory. Only our spirit, which is capable of evil, is capable of overcoming it.”

• “Endurance may outlast hope.”

• “If all but us are slaves, what’s our freedom worth?”

• “You have set us both free. Alone, no one wins freedom.”

• “Freedom is a heavy load, a great and strange burden for the spirit to undertake. It is not easy. It is not a gift given, but a choice made, and the choice may be a hard one.”

• “The world’s vast and strange, Hara, but no vaster and no stranger than our minds are.”

and the more spoiler-y passages under the cut:

• “Ged had neither lost nor won but, naming the shadow of his death with his own name, had made himself whole: a man: who, knowing his whole true self, cannot be used or possessed by any power other than himself, and whose life therefore is lived for life’s sake and never in the service of ruin, or pain, or hatred, or the dark.”

• “When I die, I can breathe back the breath that made me live. I can give back to the world all that I didn’t do. All that I might have been and couldn’t be. All the choices I didn’t make. All the things I lost and spent and wasted. I can give them back to the world. To the lives that haven’t been lived yet. That will be my gift back to the world that gave me the life I did live, the love I loved, the breath I breathed.”

#oh my beloved fantasy novel series #i just wanted to share one quote but then i kept going through my notes and finding more!!!#it’s fun to compile different ones to find patterns like omg these are from all over the series #otak in the far distant history of tales of earthsea: what is freedom if we are not all free?#ged to tenar years later in the tombs of atuan: in freeing you (and you freeing me) we have both become free #me when the themes are themeing…#earthsea #stfu ellie

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ofdisregard · 9 days ago

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NOT ACCEPTING REPLIES, AT THIS TIME.

muse: eirik ulriksson. 30s. warrior and shipbuilder. main vikings-themed verse. open to: females / 24+. plot: after discovering his wife's infidelity, muse a, a heartbroken viking warrior, leads a raid against her family's clan. during the raid, he captures muse b, the daughter of his wife's lover. intent on vengeance, he brings muse b back as his slave, but as they come to understand each other's sorrows and secrets, they unexpectedly fall in love, complicating his plans for retribution. starter tag: @indiestarter notes: replies will be posted as new threads for tracking purposes.

The fire still burned behind his eyes, long after the last of her clan’s village was reduced to smoldering ruins. Eirik’s jaw clenched as the scent of charred wood and blood clung to the cold air, a cruel reminder that no blaze could sear away the betrayal lodged deep in his chest. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his axe, knuckles pale and rigid, even as he surveyed the devastation he had wrought. He should have felt satisfaction. Justice. But all he felt was a hollow ache, a void that swallowed his rage and spit it back out, demanding more. His gaze shifted to the figure now bound and kneeling before him, her face streaked with soot and stubborn defiance. The daughter of his shame. The flesh and blood of the man who had ruined his life. He should hate her. Should treat her as nothing more than a pawn in his vengeance. Yet her eyes — clear, fierce, and wounded — held an unsettling mirror to his own. There was a story behind them, one he didn't yet know. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter. Eirik's voice was a low growl, bitter as the wind. “You are mine now. The price for your father’s sins.” He loomed closer, the weight of his grief and anger shadowing his face. “Whatever fate you thought awaited you, forget it. You step onto my land as a slave. Nothing more.” But even as he said the words, a crack split through his resolve, a whisper of doubt that gnawed at the edges of his fury. He turned away from her, the shadows of the dying flames casting a longer darkness behind him.

#indie rp #indie smut rp #open rp #smut rp #indie starter #❛ ❪ starter ⠀/⠀ eirik ulriksson.#❛ ❪ ooc ⠀/⠀ open starter.

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dragongodryss · 1 month ago

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Queve

Re-Vamping my whump story

Common Content for him: Non-human Whumpee, Conditioned Whumpee, Magical Whump, Exhaustion Whump, Injury Whump, Touch starved Whumpee,

Queve is a younger drow from the Braeryn, the most neglected part of Menzoberranzan.

As the son of a disgraced drow priestess and an escaped moon elf slave, Queve lives with the constant fear that his parentage will be revealed. His father fled as soon as he could, leaving his mother in the Braeryn alone. She believes that Queve and his father ruined her life. As such, she constantly reminded Queve that he is an abomination against Lolth, the goddess of the drow, as well as being physically abusive until her death when he was about 11. With her dying breath, she cursed him to have his very heart turn against him. It took effect immediately, the magic in the air being set off by his grief, anger and pain and causing an explosion that almost killed him.

He was found by a cursed drow named Istyl, who nursed him back to health while trying to teach him to manage his curse. He is weirdly insistent on having Queve leave as soon as possible. Queve tries to join a low-ranking house as a servant, but is kicked out after his magic starts to manifest when he is beaten. He moves in and out of Istyl's shack while he tries to find jobs and housing. Eventually, Istyl kicks him out once and for all.

That's when he manages to find work at the Zurkhwood Shadow.

Queve is a people-pleaser of nervous disposition. He is used to suppressing his emotions to prevent his magic from acting up. He believes he deserves nothing good due to being half moon elf. Despite that, he does his utmost to keep his secret.

Name: Quev (charmed, docile, friend) + e (servant, slave, vassal)

Real name: Quev (see above) + yraen (heretic, reel, riot, void)

Avoids using his real name for obvious reasons.

Age: 39 (Actual), 44 (Physical), Early/Mid-Twenties (Appearance)

Height: 152cm (5'0)

Sorcerer (Cursed): Level 4

#zurkhwood shadow #queve #whump #nonhuman whumpee #magical whump #conditioned whumpee #exhaustion whump #injury whump #touch starved whumpee

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amaryllis-sagitta · 5 months ago

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Blorbo incoming: first Rook renders

This is a character that I intended to use in my obsolete post-Trespasser Dorian fic:

Myrthus Arsenius Eferri Lib. [insert default Shadow Dragon Surname maybe, if I like it]

Born in TE 2003 (9:09 Dragon) to a Soporati family in Marothius and sold as when still a child as they fell into destitution, he served as a runner and as kitchen staff until a fire in his first owners' house provided enough distraction for a group of slaves to flee. The group moved towards Antiva but they got captured and resold. Myrthus ended up in Perivantium, with a family of zealous neophyte Andrastians.

It was then when he developed his hatred for the more sanctimonious part of the Altus, and figured out he can make connections by snitching on the rich. He got involved with Chords of Kios, a sketchy mystery cult of Zazikel that, unlike most Old God cultists, seemed to support freedom of the masses and radical change for the sake of purifying chaos. He became and informant to the Chords and subsequently worked on his domestic skills, until a member of the Palfuriae family brought him along as a personal cook to Minrathous.

A well placed vial of hemlock brought the Chords of Kios great joy. Myrthus's "friends" repaid him with connections among the Minrathous slave resistance, and a Publicanium clerk with a curious capacity to forge both manumission acts and freeborn citizen records. Thus Myrthus of Marothius became a well-kept secret, and Arsenius Eferri was born.

Arsenius remained close to the Minrathous resistance through the assassination of Archon Davan in 2023 TE and the subsequent purge of the Old God cultists. Under the newly elected Radonis, he began his new life working in the Middle City's inns and guest houses and selling information on the side. That was how he ran into Neve Gallus, and the two became somewhat prickly friends.

Myrthus's hard work paid off on both fronts. In 2036 TE (9:42 Dragon), the owner of a tavern where Myrthus worked at the time died without a legacy, and left everything to his favorite foreman.

In 2038 TE, a Laetan veteran associated with House Thalrassian contacted him, looking for information that would help find murderers of magister Halward Pavus, and Eferri got acquainted with the house heir.

Soon, rumors spread of a new cult that recruited elven slaves and servants to aid an ancient god who wished to remodel the world.

Eferri kept running his business until, one day, two dwarves and a bunch of Venatori ruined his day.

(Composition and figure in Daz Studio, rendered in Blender Cycles)

#rook dragon age #dragon age oc #my ocs #my rook #daz studio #3d renders #blorbo renders #sagitta's ocs

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denebtenoh · 2 months ago

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Song of an Ice Princess: a FF16 Fanfiction

The Titan and the maiden.

This is my first try at a magnificent game. Yes, FF16 is magnificent in spite of the many flaws it has. One of the flaws is that, they had a very powerful, very strong physically and mentally female character… who was relegated at nothing more than the main character´s girlfriend… Such a missed opportunity, Square Enix...

That´s why I want to write fics about Jill, about what she could´ve been because, in spite of the little use of her great personality, I really liked her. But also, because she hints many times she had been in captivity, used as a slave and then as a weapon, but always seen as a low life that deserved nothing but mistreatment.

Now, what kind of mistreatment women have had during war in any time, any culture and any world, and especially, during slavery?

Well, here´s my attempt at giving voice to Jill Warrick´s fantastic personality… and to her possible plights. Which means, my fics about her will be filled with blood, angst and violence… including, sometimes, gender violence. But women like her, just like the Phoenix (even though she doesn´t represents it), or maybe just like magnificent Shiva, will always rise to soar the skies.

You´ve been warned.

-------------------

Jill feels the crushing weight of exhaustion in her arms, each muscle a testament to the countless battles they have fought and the relentless struggles they have endured together. A frustrated growl escapes her as she contemplates the many challenges that lie ahead, each one more daunting than the last. She has long since lost count of the enemies they have faced and vanquished, the stains of their blood mingling with the fabric of her favorite dress—a dark reminder of the violence that has become an inseparable part of her life.

The reality of returning to Rosalith to confront Kupka weighs heavily on her chest, the memory of the once-beautiful kingdom of her childhood now reduced to ashes and ruins fills her heart with sadness. What she anticipated as a difficult task has transformed into an emotional trial that twists her heart with each passing moment. As they took every step through the streets of her childhood, it became increasingly difficult to reconcile the happy faces she once found in every home with the desolation that now greets her. Each battered house stands as a mere skeleton of its former self, dark reminders of a vibrant past that will never return.

No matter.

Gazing at Clive as he fights valiantly by her side infuses Jill with the strength she desperately needs. She shakes her head, resolutely forcing her arms to rise higher, urging her weary muscles to respond. In the past, she has fought and killed for others, enduring torture and pain in the name of their survival. Therefore, this current plight—her sacrifice for Clive's safety—holds little weight in comparison.

She knows, without a doubt, that she will always stand by his side, supporting him through every challenge, no matter the cost. For him, she is willing to endure anything, to give everything, and to push past her limits. In this fight, their goals collide as well as their atonement. Clive´s vision of the future is worth every sacrifice, and she is prepared to prove it time and again.

Unfortunately for her, her thoughts had claimed too much of her attention.

While slashing through one of the last guards, she fails to notice Kupka approaching her from behind. By the time she realizes his enormous form is looming over her, it's already too late—his massive shadow eclipses the sun, casting her into sudden darkness, an omen of the danger she failed to anticipate.

“W-wha…?” But she doesn’t get to finish the question, since his enormous hand takes her wrist, or rather, her whole forearm, and with a swift movement twist it behind her back, forcing her to let go of her sword and extracting a painful yell from her lips, as she falls hard on her knees upon the ground.

“Aaagh!!”

“Jill!” Clive opens his eyes wide with horror at seeing Kupka´s imponent frame looming over her delicate one, and absolute rage fills his heart. “Kupka!! Let her go!!”

The huge man chuckles mockingly at them both as he tightens his grip on her, forcing another painful yelp from her lips, and Clive can´t do nothing but to grit his teeth and clench his hand upon his sword.

“I´m so glad you accepted my invitation, Lord Rosfield. I went to some trouble with the decorations, as you can see.”

“Bastard! Don’t be a coward, Kupka! Let her go and fight me!”

But Kupka only chuckles once more, especially when Jill tries to ignite her powers, only to yelp again at the dominant´s pressure upon her limb. She can almost feel her arm about to pop out of its socket. Without the slightest care of how painful it can be, with a swift movement Kupka takes her by the neck and raises her from her spot, as easily as if she were a mere ragged doll, forcing her to face him, her hands making feeble attempts at liberating the pressure upon her windpipe. The humongous man looks at her with contempt, but almost with pleasure as well, at feeling the softness and brittleness of her neck under his powerful hand.

Jill and Clive feel a rush of terror running through each of their backs, as they can see malicious intent behind Kupka´s green pupils, as if the enormous man could sense with all his being the girl´s fragile life under his grasp, and basks at the feeling of absolute power that it brings.

“It could only take a movement… a small and single flicker of my wrist… and I could snap your neck as if it were a mere twig and take your life without much effort… little Snowflake.” At the terrible threat, Clive ignites his flames upon his blade, but Kupka only smirks at such threat and, without losing eye contact with Clive, lowers his lips upon the girl´s ear, speaking high enough for her friend to hear clearly. “If either of you resist, if I only feel the slightest twist of a finger from any of you, I´ll make sure this delicious neck bends in impossible angles.” As if to reinforce his threat, he tightens his grip against her, making her yelp again and Clive to growl.

But, obediently, neither of them moves a single inch.

With a slight movement of Kupka´s head, his soldiers forcefully lower Jill´s hands from the powerful wrist and envelop them in magical handcuffs, and this time Jill screams, whether for the pressure of the metal or for the draining of her magic, she doesn´t know. The sudden pain is so intense, she falls on her knees in front of her enemy, panting.

“Jill…” Now Clive feels like he´s about to break his teeth out of the force he´s clenching them, but knows there´s nothing he can do. At least not without putting Jill´s life at more risk. “I´m gonna kill you for this, Kupka…” He promises as he throws his sword to the ground, the clanking sound deafening to Jill´s ears. Chuckling at the evident suffering of the couple, Kupka gives another signal with his head and the process repeats itself, the soldiers putting similar handcuffs upon Clive´s wrists, and the pain they elicit allows him to know why they had made Jill scream.

But he doesn´t get to fall on his knees by his own out of the absorption of his powers. At Kupka´s next movement of his head, one of the soldiers closest to Clive hits him in the face with his metallic gauntlet, breaking his lip, and without letting him recover, the second one hits him from the other side, opening a gash on his cheek, only for the third man to kick him in his stomach, taking all the air from his lungs and doubling him over, almost breathless. Once on his knees, the three men start kicking the fallen man mercilessly, their laughter mixed with Clive´s grunts and yells of pain.

“No! Clive!” Jill tries to run to help him but two guards hold her by the arms, and no matter how hard she pulls at them. Without her powers, she´s at their mercy. “Clive!” With desperation, she sees blood forming on her friend´s face at the mindless attacks, and turns to see Kupka. “Please! Stop this! They´ll kill him!!”

But the man only crosses his arms over his chest, chuckling with absolute joy. “Why would you think I don´t want that?”

She looks over at Clive again, feeling her heart clenching at the suffering of the man she cares so much for and, with renewed determination, her eyes return to their tormentor.

“Please! Stop them and I´ll do whatever you want me to!”

Kupka only huffs at her. “Please… there´s nothing you have that would interest me.”

“Yes, yes I do…”

The weight of her words and the gravity in her tone finally reach him, capturing his full attention. As he turns to face her, he meets her steely gray eyes — eyes filled with unwavering determination that leave him momentarily speechless. The silent implication of her gaze causes him to huff in disbelief. Yet, as he continues to glare at her, a dawning understanding of her decision settles within him. He slowly raises a hand, signaling a halt to his attack, while his eyes roam appreciatively over her figure, acknowledging the strength and resolve she embodies. As well as her beauty.

“You don´t know what you´re getting yourself into, little Snowflake. And anyways, what makes you think I won´t do it nevertheless? I´ve already defeated you once. It will mean no effort from my part if I decide to take you by force here and now.”

His sight is met by her eyes ablaze with fierce determination, her resolve unshakable. “You defeated me before because I was weak, malnourished, and neglected. But now, Kupka, I am strong, well-fed, and cared for. You don’t stand a chance against my Shiva, and if we fight this time, I’ll make sure to end you for good… but…” Her gaze shifts toward Clive, his body sprawled helplessly on the ground, barely moving. The sight of his torment rips at her heart, her anger mingling with the unbearable ache of seeing him in pain. “But if you forgive his life, I… I could become your slave without questioning…”

Kupka raises an eyebrow in absolute skepticism. “What you´re offering is real? Would Shiva truly fight by my side?”

Her brain yells at her to deny it, begs her to take back her offering… but one look at Clive´s bleeding face erases any doubt she could have.

“You have my word…”

She´s not finished her bow when, out of nothing he slaps her face, the strength of the blow sending her a few feet away from him. She falls unceremoniously to the ground, tasting the dirt she has falling onto, a well as the blood coming from her broken lip. Kupka gives a heavy step towards her, his smirk broad upon his face while his eyes leer at her figure, chuckling in advance of his triumph.

“Very well, little Snowflake, it would seem we have a deal, then: I´ll give him but one more day of life in exchange of yours.” Without waiting for another moment, he moves his hand towards his personal guard. “Take her to my chambers! And take Cid to the dungeons.”

Without a shred of mercy, the guards seize them both by the arms. Jill is forced to stand, her legs trembling beneath her, while Clive is dragged mercilessly across the ground, barely conscious. Despite his weakened state, he manages to lift his head, his gaze meeting hers for only a fleeting second. Pain and shame flood Jill’s beautiful gray eyes as they lock with his, the weight of their shared suffering pressing heavily between them.

“N-no… Jill…” Those are the last words he speaks before plunging into the darkness of unconsciousness.

From one of the ruins and unnoticed by the rest, Gav looks at the scene unfolding before him.

“This is bad… very, very bad…”

-----------------------

Jill stands in front of the once-stately, now-worn bed that had once belonged to the great Archduke of Rosaria, Clive’s father. Her heart tightens painfully as she thinks of the tragic fate that befell the only man she ever saw as a father figure. The bed, crumbling after years of neglect, shows signs of recent, half-hearted repairs—likely done at Kupka’s command to make it barely usable. After all, Kupka wouldn’t tolerate sleeping in anything less than a bed deemed worthy of him.

Her wrists throb in agony, still cruelly imprisoned by the cold, unyielding handcuffs that rob her of her powers. Every pulse of pain radiating from her bound hands seems to drain more of her fading strength. She leans forward slightly, her body pleading for relief, as she carefully lowers herself onto the edge of the bed. The once-majestic piece of furniture, now little more than a neglected relic, creaks beneath her. Even that small sound is swallowed by the oppressive silence in the room. She’s too exhausted—too worn down by the relentless weight of defeat—to stand any longer.

Her thoughts spiral in a chaotic dance, drifting to her childhood friend, who now suffers in anger and pain, trapped in the cold, damp dungeons. As her eyes scan the surroundings, she searches desperately for any possible means of escape, a way to save both herself and Clive from this grim fate.

Amidst her frantic searching, her mind drifts back to the reckless promise she made—a foolish attempt to grant Clive a second chance. The weight of that vow presses heavily on her heart, intertwining with her desperation, as she speaks to herself, trying to reassure her fearful mind that she made the right choice.

“I’ve… I’ve done this before. This isn’t new to me… and besides, this time I’m doing it for Clive…” She repeats the words as if they can anchor her in the storm of fear that threatens to engulf her. Despite her attempts to reassure herself, the tremor in her voice betrays her unease. No matter how much she tries to convince herself, the reality is that the fear surges through her body, relentless and all-consuming.

The looming prospect of pain—pain and humiliation that she knows all too well—hangs heavily in her heart, a burden that feels almost suffocating.

Before she can focus her fearful thoughts, though, the double doors creak ominously and swing open with an unsettling ease. Kupka´s massive figure fills the doorway, his presence looming and suffocating. He steps forward, slow and deliberate, his dark smile widening—devilish and gleeful. The cruel glint in his eyes sends a chill racing down her spine, a stark reminder that she is completely at his mercy.

And this time, by her own choice.

"I can’t deny it, little Snowflake — defeating you in the Velkroy Desert ignited a fierce, unexpected passion within me for you. Your grandeur in that moment was undeniable, and it left a mark on me that I hadn’t anticipated." His voice drips with a twisted admiration as he leans in, his face mere inches from hers, the heat of his breath grazing her skin. "But honestly, at that time, not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine finding you in my bed like this… princess."

He pauses, letting the tension build as his fingers trace through her platinum hair, the touch unsettling yet deliberate. His dark eyes never leave hers, watching for any flicker of resistance. “I have to admit..." His voice lowers to a near whisper, sinister and intimate. "During that battle, you were magnificent.”

Jill passes saliva with difficulty, fear gripping her chest tighter as her breathing becomes labored, but she cannot yield now. Especially not in front of him.

“Let Clive go now… we had an agreement...”

Hugo caresses her cheek while he chuckles.

“You´re too naïve, little Snowflake, thinking that I´d trade his life for your body only. You are magnificent, as I said, but not magnificent enough to convince me not to kill him. You see, he took from me something I loved dearly. He must pay, and he´ll start paying with your suffering.”

Jill clenches her teeth and forces her eyes to look angered, to threaten him, even when she knows it’s a futile attempt.

“You took from us beloved people too, what about them? You´ll have to pay for what you did to them as well…”

Before she can utter another word of protest, his hands clamp down on her blouse, yanking her off the bed with swift, unyielding force. He straightens to his full height, pulling her up so that her feet dangle just above the floor, her body suspended at eye level. As he drags her sharply toward him, their noses almost touch. Her gasps and the pained whimpers that escape her lips seem to fuel his satisfaction, each sound deepening the cruel smirk playing across his face. He watches her intently, reveling in her discomfort, savoring every tremor that runs through her.

“I must admit that each part of you is a stunning piece of art.” He passes his tongue over his lips, as if already savoring her skin. “I promise you I will make sure you suffer during every single moment I take you… in payback for what he made her suffer…” With a violent movement, he opens his arms to the side, in a single pull ripping apart the blouse and the dress, discovering the flawless, ivory skin of her chest, her breasts exposed to the cold air as she falls upon the bed unceremoniously.

“You… wretched fiend…”

The fire in her eyes hasn’t completely faded, but now it serves only as a fragile shield to hide the overwhelming terror coursing through her. It’s the last defense she has to prevent him from seeing just how exposed and vulnerable she feels, her body laid bare before him in a way that leaves her trembling. And her fear intensifies the moment he straddles her, his eyes now leering at her figure, at the firmness of her breasts, at the paleness of her skin, which is almost as pale as Benedikta’s…

Benedikta´s…

Kupka suddenly stands completely still, his outstretched hand stalled mere inches from her breast, watching the quick raising and fall of Jill´s chest, but without really watching her, until he slowly moves off from her, only to sit at the border of the bed, his hands upon his forehead as he rests his head against his palms, as if in absolute despair. Jill lies completely still as well, afraid to even move, especially when she notices the man´s shoulders shake softly, as if he were… crying?

“K… Kupka…?” Jill straightens her posture a little, worry and uncertainty etched in her beautiful features, unsure of what would be less dangerous: trying to run away from him… or trying to comfort him.

“She was the most beautiful creature on earth… she was to be my queen…” Kupka is grunting, growling, but under his strangled voice she can sense the immense pain he´s experiencing. And can do nothing but feel empathy for the man, for she´s experienced loss as well. A loss that still scraps at her heart.

“I´m… I´m sorry…” She tries, but she hasn´t finished her words when the man turns around in a flash, entrapping her neck once more and hurting her again.

“And Cid took Benedikta from me, tore her from my loving arms… and you… you almost forced me to desecrate her memory! To taint the sacred love we shared!!” The pressure upon her throat is immense, no air entering her lungs, and she can almost feel her head filling with blood and her neck about to crack as she starts seeing spots in her peripheral vision. Fortunately for her, the man lets her go after a few seconds, only to get out of the bed in a flash, fits of painful coughing left in his wake as he releases her windpipe. Without warning, he takes her by the arm, pulling her savagely from the bed and forcing her to walk by his side, sometimes dragging her, her knees scratching the rocky floor, the grip on her arm so tight that it hurts her. “You will pay for this, princess, for trying to tempt me! For using your wretched pretty eyes to almost make me break my promise to her. But my love for her is stronger than your tricks!”

Jill hears the desperation in his voice, the raw pain buried beneath it, but she can’t focus on it. Her mind is consumed by the rising panic threatening to overtake her, by the sharp pain radiating from her arm caught in his unrelenting grip, and by the struggle to stay on her feet, desperately trying not to collapse and worsen the pain in her already battered knees. She barely registers that her robes are torn, the fabric hanging in shreds and showing a great quantity of ivory skin. She doesn´t even care the guards they pass by leer at her figure — it’s the last thing on her mind as she fights to regain control of her damaged self.

He drags her down into the courtyard again, and throws her savagely against the guards, the pair almost missing her as she crashes against them, catching her just barely before she falls face first on the ground. The guards, once they have a tight hold of her arms, force her to fall on her knees against the rocky floor, this time drawing some blood as the rocks rip the fabric of her leggings and her skin. Once in position, two soldiers stand on each of her side, heavy hands upon her shoulders to keep her in place as she stays kneeled in front of the piece of tree trunk that will serve to sever her head. As if she could have the strength to even move.

“I want this witch, this… succubus, dead at once!” Kupka screams at the top of his lungs, lest his men can see his broken heart. “Let´s begin the executions with her! Bring forth the Headman at once! And bring Cid to witness how we separate his girlfriend´s head from her wretched body!”

One of the men walks forward, a little bit scared but still pointing at Jill´s body.

“General, if we are to execute her… can we…?”

But the man slaps his personal guard with such force that he falls on the ground, his mouth bleeding.

“No! I forbid any of you to touch her! She is a witch! She will taint us with her filthy blood! No one can lay with her! She´s to die now!” And with that, Kupka storms inside the castle again, rushing angrily towards the balcony in order to witness the whole ordeal.

Jill stands still, as still as she can, impressed at how the tables are turned and she´s back to being a prisoner again, though this time, she can sense her ending truly near. She takes it valiantly, almost welcoming it, thinking only of the caring man she´s about to leave behind.

“Do you think…” The soldier to her right murmurs to his comrade, “that the general would notice if… you know… we grab some boob…?”

His comrade hesitates, looks at the immobile girl and back at the door Kupka has closed with a slam. “I… I don´t know… would you risk it?”

“Well… look at her… she looks so soft… would you really let this opportunity go?”

“Will you risk your head over a moment?”

The man inclines a little, enough so to see her breasts exposed through the ripped clothes.

“Well… they look very nice… Nice enough…”

“Well…”

Jill lowers her head, hunching her shoulders even further as if trying to shrink into herself at the irony of finding herself again in the same despising situation. She desperately attempts to shut out the conversation around her, wishing she could close off all her senses to the ominous future that looms ahead. In this moment of despair, she silently offers one last prayer to Metia, to any of the deities she doesn't truly believe in, hoping against hope for a reprieve from the inevitable.

Please… let it at least end quickly…

At the sound of heavy, metallic steps nearing her, Jill understands she´s run out of time, and the thought draws a cold sweat from her forehead, as she feels her breathing getting kicker, her heart hammering urgently against her chest. The two men tighten their grip on her shoulders and force her to lean over, slamming her face against the truck. She knows there´s blood coming from her forehead and her cheek, but she can´t care less, as her thoughts go astray to the man that had promised a better future.

I´m sorry… I won´t be able to protect you anymore, Clive…

She closes her eyes as she hears the grunting sound of the Headman raising the enormous blade, and exhales, forcing her heart to lower the speed of its beating. Because there is no more fear. There won´t be no more suffering. There will be only darkness…

But instead of darkness, a sudden and intense bright light forms behind her retinas, as screams are heard all around her and the electricity in the air prickles the hairs on her skin… and she can hear a profound growl in front of her. She slowly opens her eyes and a flash of lightning is seen in front of her.

“T-Torgal…?”

The magnificent hound howls into the air and she now can hear slashing and clanking of swords around her. She smiles tiredly, realizing her salvation has arrived, her smile growing wider in spite of the pain when a pair of gentle hands hold her shoulders, softly pulling her up straighter.

“Jill! Are you okay? Can you move?”

She pants and yelps as the man she loves liberates her from her shackles, and almost immediately she can feel her magic returning to her, slowly giving her back her strength.

“Now I can…” With the comforting support and help of his beloved hands, Jill gathers her strength and manages to stand. As she does, she feels his cape suddenly enveloping her, a clear attempt to shield the exposed skin of her chest. His hand then settles protectively on her shoulder, pressing her firmly against his chest, a gesture that speaks volumes despite the chaos around them. Clive’s furious screams of vengeance directed at Kupka resonate in the air, fueled by a desperation that suggests he fears losing her if he loosens his grip. A warmth spreads through her chest at the thought of his fierce protection. Yet, as Clive finally releases her, turning to meet her gaze, she offers him a nod, acknowledging the unspoken bond between them.

“Go after him… this has to end today.”

Clive nods at Jill as Gav faces her, a huge smile on his face as he offers her magnificent sword back to her.

“I think you dropped this.”

She smirks and nods, taking the powerful and beautiful weapon.

“Thank you, Gav, I owe you my life.”

He winks at her. “And I´ll never let you forget it, sweetheart.” He turns around and faces the enemies, and she stands right behind Clive as they are surrounded by guards. The man still looks at her from above his shoulder.

“Are you sure you can fight, Jill?”

She too looks at him from above her shoulder, and smirks.

“Are you serious? I´m more than eager to seek pay back for what they did to me.” She slashes at the closest soldier, blood spurting from the severed flesh. “Don´t worry about me, Clive. They just took me off guard, but I won´t make the same mistake again.”

Clive smiles at her and nods.

“I know, you´ve proved me over and over again you´re far stronger than this. Well…” He slashes to another guard, all too happy to obey her. “Then lets clear this path to our own revenge.”

Her hand grips tighter the handle of her sword as she smiles at her childhood friend and readies crystal magic over the palm of her hand. Yes, she would definitely sacrifice her everything for their cause.

And for this man that holds the key to their freedom.

ooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo

A/N: okay, I´m sorry, I might´ve overdone it this time, but as I said, a few parts in the game have implied that Jill was seen as less than a human being, and thus mistreated and tortured as such. That´s why I say she´s a very strong character: in spite of all her suffering, she still stands and fights for the better of other people. How couldn´t we love her?

I also thought that it was illogical for Kupka to take Clive to the dungeons only to take him back up again to witness Jill´s execution. Why not just execute her then and there? Why waste time? Well, maybe he was doing something that needed to consume time… like taking revenge on Jill… This also is my filling the gap on such plot hole.

I just hope you like the idea, and that you don´t find it too gross.

#final fantasy xvi #final fantasy 16 #ff16 #joshua rosfield #jill warrick #clive rosfield

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